


The Sum of Our Parts

by CheshireCity, chocolatemoosey



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: 18-year-old ciel, Action/Adventure, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Demons, Enthusiastic Consent, F/F, Femslash, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Male/Male, Mpreg, Multi, Polyamory, Romance, Slash, Tentacles, breath play, ciel is the age of consent, dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-06-03 17:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 157,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6619921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireCity/pseuds/CheshireCity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolatemoosey/pseuds/chocolatemoosey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rewrite of Broken Pieces and Together Again.</p><p>Freshly graduated from school, stripped of his watchdog position, and struggling with his mental health, eighteen-year-old Earl Ciel Phantomhive is thrust into the world of demonic politics when he and Sebastian catch the eye of a prolific succubus. With more than just their own lives at risk, butler and master must seek the help of friends old and new in order to navigate the perilous situation at hand.</p><p>That is if they could just admit they love each other first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hyacinthus

**Author's Note:**

> So before we kick this thing off, I wanted to start with a few words.  
> First, I want to make a few shout outs: first is Marina for sticking through with this monster until the end – Chesh and I are so happy that we were able to meet you through our writing and every moment of your friendship has been a treasure. Second is Maidenofthemoon/Singacrossthemoon for her inspiring Kuro fics, her friendship, and her contribution to the original Broken Pieces universe. Next is Cieltbh for being a long-time ardent fan and follower. We love you guys very much!  
> Last but not least, I want to thank Cheshirecity my best friend, girlfriend, and co-author. Throughout the last six years, this story has truly become our baby. Without your collaboration, consultation, and dedication, The Sum of Our Parts would not be what it is today. Together we’ve created a really beautiful story and every second of it has been a blast.  
> For those of you just tuning in, this story is a rewrite and combination of two stories written from 2010-2012, called Broken Pieces and Together Again – written by myself and Cheshirecity, respectfully. This rewrite has been two years in the making, and it takes the best aspects of both and adds a LOT of brand-new writing.  
> Now, without further ado, please enjoy The Sum of Our Parts! As always, I hope you enjoy it! Much love you guys!  
> -ChocolateMoosey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to make a note before we start off here: CIEL IS EIGHTEEN IN THIS STORY. He's a few months away from his nineteenth birthday. Chesh and I came to the conclusion that Ciel being just under eighteen was too uncomfortable and we want to be able to depict our characters as being over the age of consent. We also want to highlight the fact that Ciel and Sebastian don't have the healthiest start of their relationship to begin with and this story is by no means a guide on how to have a healthy relationship, although we'd like to encourage open communication as we do later in the story.
> 
> Love you all! 
> 
> -Moosey

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter One**

**Hyacinthus**

_“There is a sort of jealousy which need very little fire; it is hardly a passion, but a blight bred in the cloudy, damp despondency of uneasy egoism.”_

– George Eliot

            The cloying scent of earth and moist morning air clung to the assembled as they bent their heads around the casket. Its wooden sides gleamed dully amongst the swags of white lilies and black velvet – more of a grandstanding of wealth than was strictly necessary – and to one side stood a framed portrait of a middle aged man, unsmiling, and wrinkled before his time. The autopsy report had yielded a spiral fracture in the right wrist, major bruising to the back and lungs, dirt beneath the nails, enlarged eyes and liver, a bluish tincture to the skin, laceration to a single chamber of the heart, puncture of the upper left lung, and, most importantly, a shoulder full of buckshot. The whole thing had been filed as a ‘hunting accident’ but Ciel Phantomhive, nearly 18-years-old and shrewd from a young age, knew better.

            The deceased – a business partner by the name of Argus Rutherford – had left behind a wife, two sons of adult age, and a considerable fortune both in stocks and his booming tobacco company. His plantation property in the colonies had the men trading grins about American women and trying to gain favor with Rutherford to visit the infamous Virginia. Inherited from the father before him, Rutherford and Sons even had a hand in Funtom Company, supplying chocolate cigars to the confectionary side of the business as a clever marketing way to drum up interest in the parent company. Ciel had allowed this, providing the amount of sponsorship it afforded _him_ , but was inwardly glad to be done with the man and anything that took away from his future profits.

            Before him, the minister droned on, praising the Heavenly Father and reminding the assembled how doomed their mortal souls exactly were. Ciel rolled a single eye and grit his teeth against the harangue, trying to remain on his best behavior and keep the sarcastic quips _in_. He wasn’t a child anymore, after all. At his side was a quivering mass of blonde curls – his long-time fiancée, Elizabeth Middleford. He and his butler had been staying with her family while on their course to London. Really, all he wanted to accomplish was a spot of earnest business, but damn the laws of polite society that he must must _must_ stay at least a five month or risk being quite rude. Ciel determined that he would shoot whoever it was that was responsible for social conventions. They really were a hassle.

            Ignoring Lizzy’s rapt attentions in the service of a man she’d never known – damn it all, he had to give her points for her empathy, she was truly a kind creature – he surveyed the mourners about him. Widow Rutherford sat nearest to the casket, face nearly buried in a handkerchief as each of her sons perched in chairs beside her. Neither looked particularly consoling. And who would, with a fortune within hand’s reach? Ciel couldn’t suppress the smirk that crooked his lips.

            _“‘Hunting accident’ my arse.”_

            It wasn’t at though Ciel had a particular stake in the Rutherford affair: not one that he’d own to, anyway. It was merely that it was a scenario in which the facts didn’t add up, and that didn’t sit well with the young earl. It was also that, should he prove the matter a true case and manage to solve it himself, he might finally, finally be able to call himself the Queen’s Watchdog once more. He hadn’t expected to miss the title, to be fair. For a time, he hadn’t even minded, or noticed: it didn’t really matter which. He had spent some time wrapped up in blankets and staring vaguely at the wallpaper and out the window, watching the day progress into night again and again and again and it all felt like mere seconds passing by.

            His servants had returned him from Germany, the business with the werewolves settled as best as the society and its Burgermeister could handle. He faintly recalled the voyage back – the steamer trunks, the trains, the short ship ride, the carriages – but his head was elsewhere, underground and several years into his own past, side by side with another boy who shared an uncanny resemblance to himself. He remembered feeling scared all the time, and startled when he would suddenly realize that others were present. At some point Sebastian had arrived by his side and read him the letter: the Queen had relieved him from duty as the Queen’s Watchdog and had decreed that he resume his studies at Weston College while he mentally and socially healed. It wasn’t until six months later that he was sitting in his Sapphire Owl dorm that he realized the weight of his situation.

            And then he grew angry. What was he, without that title? His entire family had borne that title: it was what had classified the Phantomhives as a part of the enigmatic ‘evil nobles’, as cliché as the affiliation sounded. Of course, he was still Earl of Phantomhive and still sole owner of Funtom Company, but he would be damned – demonic contract notwithstanding – if he would be the smudge of dishonor on the family name. He would not be the last of the Phantomhives without fully living as his predecessors had.

So he threw himself into every semi-perilous situation he could find, determined to make a case of it, set on showing the Queen that he was set to resume active duty. All it seemed to garner him were a lot of “Y”’s, transcribing Latin poems time and again until his hands cramped up and blistered against his pen. Of course, Sebastian was no help here, resolutely sticking to his resumed role of dormitory warden.

            As far as the demon was concerned, Ciel was taking a convenient vacation from their contract, unable to work on his revenge and, by extension, the quality of his soul. The demon’s patience had worn thin during the interim between international travel and the return to academic life. Unable to accomplish anything, he found himself barred from being too close or too far from Ciel by either the contract or his sudden trauma.

            Weston College had been refreshing for both master and servant, although it seemed to alter the population from time to time. The occasional disappearance of a student inevitably led the earl into a fevered chase to find clues with Sebastian punishing him with a smile, slamming the tome of Latin verse in front of him as though it gave him no greater pleasure. It wasn’t until Ciel had overheard his butler in the school confessional that he understood what had been transpiring, a third-year tripping from the box looking dazed with his clothes askew. Sebastian loomed from behind, eyes hungrier and a bloodier red than Ciel had seen in years. So he’d been bedding them and eating them. Yet all Ciel could think was, “Better them than me”.

            Graduation had come and gone, and Sebastian had found a convenient excuse to leave with the student he’d entered the college with. No one found it strange, but Ciel expected no less from his butler. He paced in the study of his manor – once his father’s – and scoured over any loose ends that could afford him leverage with the Queen’s favor. Grell Sutcliffe was involved with the Jack the Ripper murders, and despite the death of his aunt, little could be done on that front. Apprehending a reaper was not only next to impossible, it was counterproductive, seeing as they kept the human world running smoothly. Her own kind had to deal with her. Baron Kelvin and his brood were dead, all save for Snake. Ciel had long since decided that the young man was innocent and had dropped aggressions against him. Still, there was the cult behind the Baron, and the entire network that Aleister Chamber knew… but then there was _him_.

            The man Ciel had only ever known as “Undertaker”, with his sloping grin and apple green eyes, smelling of dirt and death and formaldehyde. He had debuted his “Bizarre Dolls” on the Campania, and set the undead upon the entire ship as a result. Then, he’d just about done the same to Weston College — or would have done, had Sebastian and he not interfered. He had heard of other cases strange enough for fiction: bodies crawling their way out of the local cemetery, attacks in the Highlands, strange maulings here and there in the countryside. But the Aurora Society had done a good job in covering up their tracks, and those remaining survivors usually found themselves in mental institutions or beyond the reaches of Ciel’s now-average aristocratic grasp. “Undertaker” was just a title, not a name, and his documentation was lost to Ciel without the proper channels. Sure, he had his ways – and by ways, he had money and a handgun – but that only got a young man so far in life.

            Ciel had remained a regular at Scotland Yard and had learned his way around the station through trial and error and near-arrests. He kept in contact with Fred Aberline and did his best to wheedle information out of the blundering detective, but even that only got him so far. In the absence of Undertaker himself – where he’d fucked off to was anyone’s guess, but Ciel was itching to find out – the Yard had hired a young mortician, impressionable and easy to get autopsy reports from. He was educated in his trade and little else, making him an easy target for the earl. Of course, continued favors meant higher and higher stakes and the young man was running out of incentives.

            He’d approached the Yard in the case of Rutherford with his mind made up: he was an adult, and he’d make trades like adults did, under the table and dirty, with his body or with his money, whatever it took. But when he made to lean seductively over the mortician’s desk he froze, a blush creeping into his cheeks. Fate had been with him and he’d obtained the information, but the shame remained. He was hardly a virgin – he hadn’t been for many years, the cultists had made sure of that, hadn’t they? And it wasn’t as if he’d been wholly chaste in school, so why the pause?

            He clenched his fists around the fabric of his pants. He was an _adult_ and a _Phantomhive_. Any childish insufficiencies wouldn’t be tolerated. He refocused his gaze on the suspects across the aisle from him.

            Right. Fractured wrist, decimated heart, torn lung, buckshot.

            He had read and reread the report until he’d formed an image of events that fit all the details perfectly. A rifle, in the hands of a Rutherford son, aimed purposefully at his father’s chest. Never a good aim, he pulls the trigger, and the shot lodges into the flesh of the victim. The velocity takes him from his horse, but, still alive, he tries to catch himself, throwing out an arm and fracturing his wrist. The impact bruises him heavily and as he lies on the forest floor as his son comes to check on his work. The buckshot has punctured his organs and blood is filling his lungs. He panics and starts to drown on his own fluid. Truly, a horrible way to die.

            Ciel frowned, recalling another detail: the swollen liver. Donned in black, a son swigged from a flask in between half-hearted pats on his mother’s back. “ _Alcoholic, of course”_ , the earl sighed to himself. _“But still,_ ” he pondered, eyeing one brother, then the other. _“Which bastard is the one that did it? They were both present – did one act alone, or was this a premeditated plan between the two?”_

            Either way, he knew Sebastian was waiting faithfully in the wings, or the headstones, as it were, prepared to overhear just the right person. With a sigh, he relaxed his grip on his trousers, smoothing out the fabric and willing himself to trust that this time things would go in his favor.

            As if on cue, the minister finished his sermon and the parishioners uttered a solemn round of “amen”, all making to stand. Gentle hands clasped around his bicep as teary green eyes swam into view. “Oh Ciel,” his cousin breathed, nose pink. “Wasn’t that so moving? I’m sure your friend is in a better place now, I’m certain of it!”

            “He wasn’t my friend,” the earl replied, a little brusquely, taking her small gloved hands nonetheless and leading her in a walk. He approached the casket and touched it in parting with the rest of the assembled, taking more advantage of the gesture to peer down at how deep the grave seemed, wondering how rogues and graverobbers managed. They turned from the casket and headed to pay their respects to the surviving family, Lizzy profusely and eloquently showing her feelings and Ciel managing in a much more reserved manner.

            He noticed the brunet brother – Phillip, he believed – fiddling with his rings as they talked, despite his calm demeanor. _“Hah, nervous, I wonder? Perhaps you’re the one with something to hide.”_ He meant to press further, but Lizzy had fixed on another guest and had burst into a profusion of sentiment, giving her fiancé no choice but to accompany her. They melted into the crowd of ash and black and were soon quite far from the suspicious family, much to the earl’s chagrin.

            Sebastian, meanwhile, was having no better luck.

            He had perched himself atop a crypt, unobserved by humans thanks to the glare of the sun and the slope of a hill. From his vantage he could see the wide fields, dotted with weather-worn headstones and beautiful granite and marble statues of angels and deities. Mist had filled the grounds like a basin only just that morning, but by the sermon’s close it was nearing midday, and the foggy atmosphere had cleared considerably.

            To the east sat the Middleford manor, its sweeping front stairways and elaborate white fountain just a miniature even to the demon’s enhanced vision. Beside it was the forest wherein the family rode and hunted, bustling with game and the musty scent of feathers and dewy undergrowth. It made for a beautiful September day, considering.

            As the mourners dispersed, Sebastian slipped quietly from his perch, hanging back to watch. He could spot the form of his master, bedecked in the black velvet and soft grey linens he had dressed him in personally just that morning. Gone were the short trousers and ribbons and pointed heels of the earl’s youth, replaced instead with sensible wear that was the height of fashion for gentlemen of his age. Sebastian almost missed seeing his meal trussed up so decoratively.

            He chuckled to himself at the thought, flicking his tongue out to wipe at dry lips. The air was crisp and refreshing against his palate, bringing with it a myriad of scents. He made to discern them, shutting his eyes and blocking out all other sensory information. First – and most overwhelmingly – was the smell of the cemetery, of wet grass and moist soil, nurtured and enriched by the dead: an almost peppery, earthy scent singular to the graveyard. Then came the baseness of murky pond water, musky geese and sharp-beaked ravens, the subtle and sweet allure of orange blossoms, and the mineral-rich thick smell of stone that Sebastian could only describe as ‘brown’.  Beyond all this were the humans, a muddled mass of flesh, light sweat, salty tears, pomade, perfumes, colognes, and brandies.

            Sebastian was never too fond of being around large numbers of people at a time for simply that reason: humans, in a group, tended to smell overwhelming and generally horrible. He detected the notes of Ciel – sugared violets with hints of strawberry, mixed up in human musk – and relaxed when he could feel the other at ease. Times hadn’t exactly been action packed, between English lessons and maths revision, then what with graduation and the endless social invitations and company events. It had been positively stifling for the demon.

            “‘E seems ‘appy,” came a lilting breath against the demon’s ear.

            Sebastian’s eyes shot open, spinning about on heel, a single hand ungloved and clawed in mere seconds. His opponent had already shot back several feet, standing in an unconcerned slouch with a near-adoring grin spread across his scarred face. Damn his cemetery scent.

            “‘Ello, poppet.”

            “ _Undertaker_ ,” the demon hissed, straightening slightly. “Where in the Seven Hells–?”

            “Around.”

            “Naturally. You know Ciel is fixed on finding an answer.”

            “Per’aps you should’ve told ‘im eight months ago when _you_ found ou’.”

            Sebastian’s lips twisted sourly. “It’s a need-to-know basis. He hasn’t asked _me_ , so there’s no need to tell _him_. Besides, what would be the point: Oh, just so you know, Master, I’ve been fucking the enemy, just in case you were wondering?”

            “Uhu!” the man ushered his strange laugh, covering his crooked lips with an oversized sleeve. “Tha’d be quite funny. ‘Is face would be priceless.”

            “Right. Well,” the demon countered curtly, tugging at the ends of his vest. “Don’t forget the score, _reaper_. Only one of us can have Ciel, and I’ve already contracted to him. If you lay hand to him, I will kill you.”

            The light drained from the mortician’s expression, shadowed and grim and suddenly much older looking. “What you want with ‘im, poppet? A meal? A tasty li’le snack? ‘E’ll go to waste by you.”

            “Hah. Why’s that?” Sebastian snarled with a laugh. “Because there’s nothing left for you to reap? All because I’m some glutton demon that ruins all your record-keeping and Heaven-running? With as low as you’ve fallen, it hardly suits you.”

            Undertaker stood motionless, smile unwavering, studying the demon. Sebastian shifted, squinting suspiciously at the other.

            “What?”

            “You’re righ’. I’m not the reaper I used t’ be. Bu’ I do cherish these silly ‘umans, and I’d never ‘urt their souls.” Fanaticism glazed his eyes, giving him a gentle look unfit for the situation, “Don’ you see? My Dolls don’ die, don’ feel pain, don’ fall apart.”

            “That’s not a life, Undertaker! That’s worse than death, crueler. Or is it preferable because you know where their soul goes?” Sebastian all but spat.

            “No. They’re perfect people, an’ Ciel will be the most perfect of all. ‘E won’t ‘ave t’ ‘urt anymore, Sebastian! No more nightmares! No more aging! ‘E won’t be alone!” his eyes, momentarily lit by the rant, softened once more. “‘Ow can tha’ be cruel?”

            Sebastian shrugged, “He chose his own fate: let him stick to it, even if it is painful. It’s his choice.”

            “You only like it as it benefits you, poppet,” Undertaker responded wryly.

            “You’re no different. You’d take choice from someone just so you selfishly don’t have to feel. You’re an undertaker, no, a _reaper_ , that runs from death. That forces _others_ to run from death. Do you have any idea how paradoxically full of shit you are?”

            But again the white haired man had stilled, head lolled dramatically to one side. The look had faded from his face, replaced with the usual quirky smile he tended to wear as a mask.

            “What is it?” the demon asked bitingly.

            “People, I think.”

            “Yes, there do tend to be people about when it comes to cemeteries. Dead ones, too.”

            “They’re comin’ this way,” Undertaker insisted, and that time the demon paused to listen as well, picking up on the heavy footfalls of a group of men hurrying towards the alley of crypts the two stood within. To Sebastian’s left was the tomb he had previously vacated the roof of: a white marble structure with brass gates that had since turned a jade green. The mortician approached unthreateningly, fingering the railing at the demon’s side. “Tha’s curious, don’ you think? Who needs t’ run in a graveyard?”

            “Shall we find out?”

            “No’ like this, we aren’t,” the embalmer chuckled, ramming his palm against the gates of the crypt and pulling the butler inside by the front of his vest. Dodging the center sculpture of bronze cupids, Sebastian brushed flat against the wall, feeling dazed. Undertaker had deftly pulled the gates back closed until they appeared undisturbed and mimicked the butler against the opposing wall.

            “How did you know it would open?” Sebastian asked lowly, attentive to the oncoming rustle of men’s feet.

            “I di’n’t,” Undertaker replied gleefully.

            “We’re inside someone’s _crypt_ ,” the demon said, suddenly aware of his company.

            “A lover’s crypt, in fact.”

            “Doesn’t that bother _you_ of all people? You’re eccentric to be sure and you’re not much of a reaper these days, but what exactly makes this alright? You’re an undertaker for Hell’s sake.”

            “Well they’re dead, aren’t they?” the other shrugged.

            “But you’re –.”

            “S’alright s’long as you thank ‘em afterwards.”

            “But you just said –.”

            “One,” Undertaker hissed back importantly as the steps came right up beside them, “Must never overlook cemetery etiquette.”

            The two waited inside the musty space while the ring of businessmen discussed particularly illicit transgressions against the deceased, in what they had believed to be privacy and confidence. They said more than enough to provide the butler leads of inquiry that would certainly pique Ciel’s interest.

            Once their voices had faded to distant mumbles Sebastian returned his gaze to Undertaker, who presented yet another grin bordering on insane.

            “I’ve completely forgotten to ask,” Sebastian began, head lilting to the side. “What is it that brought you here in the first place?”

            Undertaker shrugged neatly, amusement never leaving his façade. He proceeded to push off of the wall that he leaned against and closed the distance between them in two strides.

**Xxxxxxxxxx**

            With his butler otherwise occupied, Ciel had returned to the graveside and was watching the interment with the other gentlemen. The Rutherford brothers were, thankfully, nearby once more, but were no longer conversing. The only noise was the creak of the casket as it finally reached the bottom of the pit. One of the sons made his way over to the mound of earth at the graveside to cast a handful of the stuff into the grave and Ciel turned on his heel to join the queue. Just as he did, he nearly managed to ram into the person standing beside him.

            “I beg your pardon s—.” The “sir” died on his lips as Ciel looked into the face of an alarmingly tall woman. Dressed in a slender women’s mourning suit of the newest fashion, Ciel had managed to mistake her for a male in his peripherals — and rightfully so. It was unheard of for a woman to attend an interment.

            “It’s quite alright,” the blonde replied smoothly, shocking an older gentleman standing on her other side.

            “Heavens help me!” he gasped, grasping at his chest. The attention of the other men was quickly drawn by the outburst. “Madam, bless your heart. Shouldn’t you be with the other ladies?”

            “Ah, thank you — but I haven’t any interest,” she silenced him rudely, eyes hardly twitching from Ciel. The earl raised his chin slightly as the younger of the brothers swept to the tall woman’s side, flustered.

            “Ah, you really should — Miss Fitzpatr—” he began, offering his arm. The woman finally broke her unnerving gaze from Ciel’s impassive one and stepped to the earl’s side.

            “Perhaps this young gentleman would not mind accompanying me to my carriage?” She posed the question as more of an order, snaking her arms around Ciel’s bicep. Her disturbing gleaming smile settled on Ciel once more. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting him quite yet.”

            Perturbed by the woman’s strange behavior but not shaken, Ciel offered up his most courteous smile. The best way to shake her would be to get her to Lizzy as soon as possible — spinsters such as this were easily sent away with a gentle reminder of his engagement. This method prevented any hurt feelings, which were typically awful business investments. “It would be my pleasure.”

            “My sincerest thanks,” she pet his arm with an uncomfortable amount of familiarity as they began to file out of the cemetery, the Rutherford brothers hovering around her awkwardly as the other gentlemen continued to cast dirt.

            “Allow me to —” the elder brother began, but froze when the woman stopped to glare at him.

            “Roderich, _darling_ ,” she all but hissed, “Hurry off.”

            And like that, the brothers exchanged wary glances and joined the pack of other men. The woman’s gait was slow and steady, and although Ciel tried to walk as brusquely as possible without effecting rudeness, he could not urge her to go faster.

            “ _Like a stubborn horse_ ,” he thought as they made their way down the cemetery drive, the heels of the woman’s boots clicking uncomfortably loud on the pavement. Before the earl could rummage his mind for an appropriately bland conversational topic, his companion spoke.

            “And how would you happen to know the deceased, young man?” she inquired.

            “His company advertised through mine,” he answered as vaguely as possible. “And — if I may ask — how would you, Madam?”

            “Oh, I’m nothing more than an old friend of the family,” she laughed pleasantly, demeanor far too casual for their setting. “Please do tell me more about yourself though — heavens, I haven’t even asked your name!”

            “Earl Ciel Phantomhive,” he replied smoothly and — before he could ask her name — the woman’s demeanor shifted. It was but a crook of her brow and the slightest twitch of her lip, but it was present and it forced a far more sinister quality to overcome her bold features.

            “Earl Phantomhive?” she echoed with purpose, “My, if that isn’t a surprise! I was under the impression you’d yet to integrate back into fine society after your… _fit_.”

            Her words struck a nerve and Ciel bit back every scathing retort that attempted to escape his mouth. It was no surprise to Ciel that he still remained a popular topic in social circles — and had since the death of his family years prior — but to have it addressed in such forward of a fashion was flinchingly uncouth.

            “I recently graduated from Weston College, and I’ve been vacationing at the home of my fiancée, Miss Elizabeth Middleford,” he attempted to maneuver around the topic. “I’ve been quite busy as of late.”

            “So it would seem — tell me Earl Phantomhive,” she turned to face him suddenly, all but contorting his arm in her grasp. “Who was that dark fellow who escorted you to the service?”

            Ciel frowned, truly taken aback at such a sudden shift in topic; he’d heard endless praise and received dozens of quips about his butler, but something about her abrupt question struck him as particularly odd. “Sebastian?” he sputtered out in confusion. “He’s merely my butler.”

            The woman’s eyes fluttered oddly as she stared at the ground, amusement overcoming her, “Your butler?” she responded, nearly in an incredulous laugh.

            Ciel pulled his arm away — the woman was as strange as she was obnoxious, and he was sorely excited to be rid of her. The woman continued unfazed: “Where would he happen to be, Earl Phantomhive?”

            “I suppose he’s returned to the carriage,” Ciel responded in a clipped tone, beginning to walk away from her with a bit more speed than was absolutely necessary.

            “You seem awfully close to him, do you not?”

            This was spoken directly into Ciel’s ear, the woman’s breath so low he could feel the damp heat tickling his lobe. At a loss for how she caught up to him so quickly, the earl spun to face her in lieu of lashing out, as he would so often be inclined to do in such a situation.

            “I beg your pardon?” he spat, completely bewildered about how to continue without losing his temper. She stepped back at last, laughing lowly.

            “Despite your supposed engagement to Miss Middleford, I must confess that I took you for a bachelor when I first saw you with him,” she professed sweetly — and that was the final straw.

            Refusing to cause a scene, Ciel bit his lip and stalked towards the cemetery’s gate, not bothering with the courtesy of parting with a ‘goodbye’. Angry shivers were coursing through his limbs — the absolute _nerve_ of the bitch! She had literally nothing to go off of with such a crude assumption, save for the fact that he had staved off his marriage while attending school. But such a practice was not unheard of — and besides, Ciel was becoming more infuriated by the moment merely by attempting to justify it to himself.

            By the time he met up with Lizzy at the carriage side and responded to her quips about Sebastian’s whereabouts – “Private business, my dear,” which had come to be a sort of code between the two of them for his more unsavory dealings – the strange woman was nowhere to be found.

            “ _All the better. I couldn’t stand another moment around_ that,” Ciel thought, thankful that the luncheon had been held before the funeral. The Middleford footman helped the couple into the carriage and Ciel took his routine position across from Lizzy, who seemed content on fixing her skirts. She had grown to become quite beautiful in the past several years, her pale skin and trussed up golden curls brought to warmer hues by the dark color of her mourning gown. But despite this, his affections remained chaste, and their relationship as strained as ever.

            “That was a particularly upsetting ceremony: I hate seeing people lose loved ones,” Lizzy sniffled, removing her handkerchief and blotting at her swollen eyes, “But I felt perfectly chagrined for crying so.”

            Ciel made to comfort her, but the murmurs soon died on his lips as he found he had nothing sincere to say. They spent the remainder of the blessedly short carriage ride in uncomfortable silence.

            Once they arrived back at the estate, the carriage door swung open to reveal not the Middleford family’s footman, but instead Sebastian. Lizzy made a soft, startled noise, but Ciel remained as impassive as ever, allowing Sebastian to help him from the conveyance. As he smoothed the wrinkles from his clothing, the butler silently moved passed him to assist with aiding Lizzy. Ciel turned, and spotted a thin sliver of something ghostly white trembling on the back of Sebastian’s pea coat. How unlike him to be so untidy! Opening his mouth to make a scathing retort to help sooth him of his earlier irritations, Ciel’s words caught in his throat.

            Sebastian turned to him, handing Lizzy over with a disturbingly serene smile.

            “My lord?” he inquired pleasantly, eyes alight with mocking contentment.

            How unlike him _indeed_.

            “ _You absolute_ fuck,” Ciel thought, his irritation increasing tenfold as he gripped Lizzy’s arm a bit tighter than necessary. She made a noise of pained protest, and Ciel released her instantly, his single visible eye wide and alarmingly furious as he stared down his butler, who was still feigning bemusement. “ _Like hell you’d be seen without your coat_ impeccable. _There’s only one person a hair that long could belong to — and you’ve seen_ him _. You’ve seen him, and you’re rubbing it in my face, aren’t you?_ ”

            As if to respond, Sebastian began to usher the couple inside; “Now, now master—you musn’t grasp Miss Elizabeth so.”

            Ciel’s stomach roiled.

            “Ah…” Lizzy began precariously, “Mister Sebastian, I believe that Ciel might be feeling under the weather. He’s been quiet since the service ended.”

            “A case of shaken nerves, perhaps?” Sebastian suggested, laying a hand over Ciel’s shoulder as they crossed the threshold into the foyer. The earl all but recoiled.

            “ _Don’t touch me with that filthy hand of yours_ ,” he thought before gritting out: “Perhaps.”

            “I’ll keep that in mind whilst I assist the staff in preparing dinner. I’ll arrange for something light to be cooked this evening,” the butler ducked into a deep bow. “If you’ll excuse me.”

            Before his master could stop him, Sebastian made off towards the kitchens. Ciel stood and glowered for a moment, all but snarling when Lizzy set a gentle hand on his arm. The glare and subsequent sneer he sent her were enough to cause the young woman to shrink into herself. He instantly regretted it.

            “Lizzy—” He began, grimacing at his own coarse actions.

            She turned away from him. “I must go dress for dinner,” she said sharply, and began to ascend the staircase. And thus, Ciel was left alone in the foyer with nothing to accompany him but his own frustrations.

            With nothing to occupy himself with until dinner, Ciel departed to the gardens, hoping the cool air would help to ease his frustrations. He took a turn about the courtyard, only to come across Lizzy’s young nephew and its nursemaid. He paid no attention to the child’s shrieks and babblings as it spotted him, and instead turned to the maid and requested for her to remove the child to the indoors. She assented, scooping up the little thing, but not before it caught hold of the string on Ciel’s eyepatch waving in the breeze.

            “Ah, Justin dearie, you mustn’t grab things that aren’t yours,” the maid instructed, laughing nervously as she attempted to unwind the child’s fingers from the string, “I’m terribly sorry Lord Phantomhive.”

            “It’s no matter,” Ciel frowned, assisting in the task and eventually ending up with Justin’s finger gripping his.

            “Hello,” the tiny person said.

            “Hello Justin,” Ciel responded, patting its blond head awkwardly.

            “You play?” Justin asked.

            “No,” Ciel frowned.

            The baby screwed up its face, pink patches breaking out as it began to whimper pitiably. The nursemaid tutted, slipping the baby’s fingers off of Ciel’s and bouncing it gently as they moved towards the manor. Ciel watched them go, sitting down on a stone bench beside a little bubbling fountain.

            It was strange how quickly his cousins’ worlds had changed while Ciel remained at Weston, nose buried in a book and thoughts pleasantly numbed by the aftereffects of his breakdown. Elizabeth had sobered into a much more respectable young woman, her prowess with the sword refined to frightening levels — although she carried with her a mature sort of melancholy that didn’t sit well with her fiancé. His cousin Edward, on the other hand, had graduated and subsequently wed a year after Ciel had resumed attending, and now his blond screeching child frequented the Middleford Manor’s halls and gardens. Ciel frowned. His own wedding to Lizzy would be in the works soon enough, and perhaps Phantomhive Manor would have its own tiny shrieking ward of its own in time.

            The thought caused a cold laugh to bubble up out of Ciel’s throat, the prospect of bedding Lizzy was—

            Ciel laughed again, much more conscious of it this time. He knew his preferences, the obnoxious prodding of the strange woman at the funeral aside. No, Ciel was certain that Phantomhive Manor would remain silent of a child’s cries. It was better if the line ended with him anyway, especially If Sebastian turned out to have a taste for Ciel’s lineage.

            The thought of Sebastian was enough to irritate another little snarl out of Ciel. ‘ _Speaking of bedding_ ,’ he thought irately. He knew it was a leap in logic, but there was no way that the hair could’ve ended up on Sebastian’s back without something salacious transpiring between the demon and the reaper — unless Sebastian had planted it there himself. This was likely, but certainly less fun for the butler if he was intending to get Ciel’s goat. The earl had no problem with Sebastian ending up in the skirts of the school nurse or the trousers of one of his classmates, but the thought that he would be so cocksure about fucking an enemy as to rub it in his master’s face was outright. Ciel stowed away these thoughts as he was called to dinner by one of the house staff, resolving to settle the issue later that evening.

            Dinner that night was slow and uncomfortable, with wedding plans cropping up from time to time. Marquis Middleford chatted about the potential splendor of the upcoming ceremony with his daughter-in-law while Lizzy would pipe in every now and then with quips of approval. Edward, Ciel, and the Marchioness remained as reserved as ever. Though Sebastian did not grace the dinner table in the flesh, his presence was felt in the selection of food that evening; as promised, it was light as to not upset Ciel’s fictitious case of the nerves. Almond crusted sole with capers for the fish course followed by pressed duck; the meal was concluded with a salad dish and, finally, apple cake. As always, the height of fashionable foodstuffs, each flavorful without undue richness — and signed with a subtle _fuck you_ at the end for Ciel.

            “ _An aphrodisiac for reapers_ ,” Sebastian had explained one fall morning during Ciel’s time at Weston. He had inquired with Sebastian after one of his classmates had fallen into a state of glassy eyed semi-consciousness after sharing one with the earl. At Ciel’s surprise, the demon had smiled: “ _Come now, you aren’t so naïve as to think these sorts of institutions are populated only by humans, are you?_ ”

            The presence of the apple dish was no mistake. How _dare_ Sebastian mock him in that manner! Ciel flushed as the dessert was presented, lowly declining the slice of cake that the wait staff offered him.

            “Are you still feeling ill, Ciel?” Lizzy quipped, gazing at him imploringly. Ciel met her genuine stare evenly and was able to produce a small smile.

            “I must admit that I am. I presume that I was too quick to eat so soon after feeling better.”

            “Perhaps you should lay down for a spell?” Edward’s wife suggested gently. Ciel agreed and excused himself as politely as possible, sending Lizzy a meaningful glance of thanks. For once, her returned smile was warm and genuine — though she may have spent her youth playing dumb, his cousin was incredibly perceptive and Ciel was beyond grateful for that.

            The earl made his way to the guest quarters where he had been staying since his graduation and proceeded to lock himself in his chamber. The moment the lock clicked, the earl’s fingers sought his eyepatch, sliding it from his face and glaring straight ahead into the room’s dark interior. He felt the blood rush to the marked eye, igniting the seal and setting his hair on end.

            “Sebastian,” he said lowly. “Come to me.”


	2. Ranunculus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, Moosey here! I hope that you all enjoyed chapter one!   
> First off, I wanted to give you a warning of dubious consent. This is the only chapter that will include dubious consent, and it is not glorified in this story or by the authors in any way, shape, or form. In real life, there is no such thing as dubious consent: if one party does not consent, is unable to consent under the circumstances, or coerced under someone who has power over them, that is rape.  
> Second off, I wanted to add a disclaimer that the witches in this chapter are based very lightly off of existing Wiccan practices that didn't come into mainstream use until the 20th century. As such, I took a few liberties, and there are some definite differences between Wicca and what is depicted here (such as the masks and covens having different sects). If anything is offensive or grossly inaccurate, please let me know and I will do my best to correct it.

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Two**

**Ranunculus**

_“Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power.”_

– Oscar Wilde

            The stagnant air in the room shifted a little, taking on an icier quality. Ciel could feel Sebastian in the darkness, though not see him. The room pulsated with his presence, the shadows undulating with their joined breathing.

            “ _So you chose to show me this form?_ ” Ciel thought, unimpressed. Sebastian certainly must have been bored to go through these sorts of theatrics.

            “Yes, my lord?”

            Ciel glanced to his left, and there was Sebastian with his coy smile and gloved hand pressed to his chest.

            “Tell me, Sebastian,” Ciel began conversationally, letting his eyepatch flutter to the floor, “Have you seen Undertaker recently?”

            Ciel could practically _feel_ the demon laughing as the air in the room rippled with mirth.

            “Why would you pose such a question? You’ve barely spoken of him as of late — perhaps being at the cemetery called upon some familiar memories?”

            Ciel laughed, crossing the room towards the four-poster bed. He landed roughly on the covers as he sat, watching as Sebastian followed to stand at the foot of the mattress. Ciel kicked off a shoe, letting it dangle from his toes for a moment before dropping it beside Sebastian. The butler watched it fall out of the corner of his eye before raising an eyebrow as if to ask: “ _Now what are you playing at_?”

            Ciel peeled off his second shoe in a similar manner, letting it fall to Sebastian’s other side. The butler looked cross now, never one to be patient of a mess. “ _You’re not the only one with a penchant for dramatics_ ,” Ciel thought, lips crooking into a cheeky smile before he finally spoke.

            “That’s an _order_ Sebastian.”

            The power of the contract shot through them both, like an electrical current. Sebastian’s antagonistic smile broadened.

            “Yes, my lord. I have seen Undertaker.”

            “When?”

            “Today, in fact.”

            “And tell me, Sebastian,” Ciel leaned back on his hands, lulling his head to one side, “Did you fuck him?”

            “No,” Sebastian answered sweetly. Ciel’s amused gaze sharpened into a glare and Sebastian chuckled, hiding the laughter behind a loosely curled fist, “ _He_ fucked _me_.”

            “And why,” said Ciel, sitting straight up and reaching out to grasp the demon’s tie, pulling him in closer to his face. “Did you find it necessary to withhold this information from me?”

                “My lord did not inquire,” Sebastian responded. He was very close to Ciel’s face now, his breath warm and smelling of something inhumanly primal, like the maw of a carnivore. The earl looked away and released Sebastian’s tie, allowing himself to fall back onto the bed.

            “This is all a game to you, isn’t it?” he smirked, covering his eyes with his forearm. “Ever since I went off duty, you’ve always found a new way to entertain yourself at my expense. It’s revenge isn’t it?”

“Again, my lord, you simply did not inquire.”

            Ciel scoffed, not even bothering to look at Sebastian’s smug face. He rolled to his side, glaring hard at the wall: “Do you remember who you belong to, Sebastian?”

            The demon did not hesitate: “I belong to the little lord who seeks revenge for his fallen family.”

            “Am I not the very same?” Ciel asked, eyes flicking to the demon in the corner of his vision. Sebastian laughed, and this time it was not his typical amused laughter — rather, it was darker, and almost more guttural. Ciel was suddenly once more aware of the shadows in the corners of the room — they laughed along with the demon, curling in satisfaction.

            “Before me is a petulant child who still refuses to act,” Sebastian patronized, “A soul better off devoured than left to marinate in its stalled revenge. How could you blame me for playing with my food when it’s become so boring?”

            “A child?” Ciel echoed, “Is it not a child who became your master?”

            “A little lord. But all I see now is—.”

            Ciel rolled to his knees and grasped Sebastian by the tie again, this time with considerably more force. The demon’s eyes were glowing electric violet, smile curled up halfway through his cheeks, and canines elongated — his human form was rippling at the seams, the demon inside hungry and unchained.

            “ _What_ do you see before you?” Ciel hissed, “Someone different? _I_ am the very soul you belong to, and you have no right to dictate when you should devour me,” he pulled Sebastian closer, his own expression becoming manic with rage, “ _You. Are. Mine,_ ” he grit out, “And it’s high time you remembered your fucking place.”

            “Oh, _do_ tell me,” Sebastian hissed, suddenly advancing upon Ciel so that the earl’s lips nearly touched the demon’s teeth. His hair was all but standing on end, expression wild and pupils blown, “What does the little lord intend to do with me?”

            Ciel stared back, blasé.

            “Sebastian,” he said in a calm, even tone. “Fuck me.”

            The demon started, eyes flashing in shock as he met Ciel’s stony gaze. He didn’t have to ask. Ciel tilted his head to the side, regarding his servant lazily.

            “You heard me,” he whispered. “Fuck me. _Now_.”

            The room was silent. The stagnant air and the cold ebbing shadows mixing around them, but never quite meeting. Ciel sat perfectly still, eyes locked with Sebastian’s; they narrowed slightly as the demon tilted his head to survey his master, tongue dashing out to taste his lips. The uneven edges of his person smoothed like ruffled feathers resting and his expression fell from amused fury to an irritated form of curiosity.

            “Fuck you?” Sebastian repeated smoothly, reaching up to strip one of the gloves from his hands. “My Lord, are you absolutely certain of what you’re asking?” He dropped the article on the floor next to Ciel’s discarded shoes, followed quickly by the other.

            “Do I _look_ like I’m _un_ certain?” Ciel returned evenly, taking to his knees. He caught Sebastian’s chin between his fingers, forcing him to meet his eyes. The butler chuckled darkly, turning his face into Ciel’s fingers and greedily sucking his thumb into his mouth. Ciel moaned, instantly taken by the slick warmth, hissing when the demon nipped at him punishingly.

            “ _None_ of that,” he growled, pushing Ciel’s shoulder and pressing him into the mattress. The earl shivered at the contact and warmth, rubbing the length of his body against Sebastian’s with an arch of his spine. “Do you honestly think I’d let you win one over on me that easily?”

            Ciel struggled to form a response, but it never left his lips as Sebastian surged up against him with an open-mouthed kiss. His tongue slid in: hot and invading and very conscious of what it was doing. There was no adolescent trepidation there. Sebastian sucked Ciel’s tongue into his mouth, dragging sharp canines over it as he pulled away, only to be grasped by the shoulder and reined in for another bruising kiss; Ciel bit at his butler’s lip, raking his teeth over it in turn. Sebastian snarled a little at the bite and wrenched his mouth away, setting upon Ciel’s shoulders with nips and open-mouthed kisses – bruising sucks and bites that would certainly leave dark rosettes in their wake.

            There was a mad scramble to shed clothes; ivory buttons popped away as hungry mouths devoured the little patches of pale skin the attire gave way to. There wasn’t a bit of flesh that was undeserving of punishment, of marking ownership – Ciel upon Sebastian to reclaim what was rightfully his to do with as he pleased, and Sebastian upon Ciel to show that he simply would not take this slight lying down.

            Sebastian fisted his claws in Ciel’s hair, delighting in the resulting moan as he tipped the earl’s throat back, exposing his quivering jugular. He ran the tip of his tongue over the trembling line of his pulse, imagining something much more lewd under his mouth’s ministrations. Shivering, he nipped at Ciel again before turning his attention to the younger’s flushed nipples, pinching one harshly between thumb and forefinger.

            The earl made a noise between a gasp and a yelp, whimpering when Sebastian plucked the sensitive bud. The demon chuckled in amusement, leaning down to gather the other nipple carefully between rows of sharp teeth. An electric current shot down Ciel’s chest and into his core while he writhed and rubbed his thighs together. Sebastian caught this and slid his knee purposefully between them – not to rub against his master’s need, but rather to stop him from teasing himself. Ciel huffed in response, issuing a growl from Sebastian.

            “Needy,” Sebastian accused, eyes flashing in excitement. His hands ceased their ministrations and slid down the length of Ciel’s chest, one cupping his erection through the thick fabric of his trousers. Ciel ground against it desperately, throwing an arm around Sebastian and digging his nails into the pale flesh of his back.

            “Don’t even _think_ about stopping,” he hissed, growing agitated with the resulting laughter. Ciel bit the demon’s ear in punishment, but Sebastian did not stop fondling Ciel’s cock until he grew impatient enough to peel the trousers off of his person. He spread Ciel’s knees with a bit more force than was strictly necessary, electric eyes gobbling up the lewd display: the proud earl’s cock resting disgracefully against his abdomen, twitching under his gaze.

            “Could it be you like being looked at?” Sebastian inquired, leaning his head down into Ciel’s lap. The other gasped a little at the feeling of hot breath on his cockhead. “Having yourself spread open in front of me?”

            He reached out to trace the dark line of Ciel’s cock, stopping just short of the sensitive glans. Ciel thrashed a little –

            “Get _on_ with it –!”

            His complaint was cut short as Sebastian sunk his teeth into a pliant thigh, leaving his mark there as well. The sting shot straight up Ciel’s spine and he covered his mouth, willing his legs to still themselves. The demon released a low chuckle and gently pressed against the perineum, massaging the sensitive spot in tiny circles. Ciel’s spare hand flew to the pillow beside his head, fisting the fabric. Sebastian’s finger slowly traveled up over the retracting sac, fingers finally enveloping his lord’s cock and beginning to stroke him in earnest.

            Ciel could do nothing to suppress the litany of lewd noises that escaped his lips as Sebastian began to stroke him off, nudging his legs even farther apart. A wet noise caught his attention and Ciel opened his eyes, realizing that he had squeezed them closed in pleasure. A grin split his lips as he was confronted with the image of Sebastian sucking two — and then three — of his own naked fingers into his mouth. The erotic sight was enough for another throb to shoot between Ciel’s legs and he raised his hips into the stroking that was far too slow for his liking.

            “In due time, my lord,” Sebastian spoke at last, pausing as he ran his tongue over one of the digits. Ciel was just about to demand more when he felt one of those long, slicked fingers slide between him, pressing up against his entrance.

            “Are you ready, my lord?” he inquired softly, lowering his lips to Ciel’s ear, his carnivore breath brushing against the crook of his neck and making him shiver.

            Ciel nodded emphatically, unconsciously wrapping an arm around the demon’s shoulder as his finger circled his entrance. He took a long while to tease it open, dipping just the tip in before retreating with a disappointed sigh. Ciel cracked one eye open, about to voice complaint, only to feel his heart stop as something slick rubbed against him. Sebastian smirked, as dark little tendrils dripped from his hand, the shadows worming their way into Ciel and filling him with a wet, frigid sensation.

            Satisfied, the demon resumed fingering him open, the tip of his finger sliding in much easier this time. The warm feeling of his fingers coupled with the cold, squirming shadows inside of him worked Ciel’s gut into a state. He felt like he could cum just from the sensations alone. With this working to his advantage, it took Sebastian no time at all to resume his preparations, a second finger quickly joining the first and eventually a third.

            He hissed, moaning as Sebastian brushed the tips of his fingers against something wonderful, making the heat collecting in his body shoot to the pit of his stomach and up his hardened cock. The butler made a curious noise and Ciel’s eyes fluttered open to see him smirking as he slowly retracted his fingers and began to fiddle with the clasps of his trousers.  He moaned a little as he watched Sebastian release his cock, shedding his pants and dropping them unceremoniously off of the bed side. The demon produced a soft groaning noise as he wrapped his hand around it, using the other to part his master’s legs. He slid forward and pressed the head of his erection up against Ciel’s ass.

            Ciel wrapped his legs around Sebastian’s waist, drawing him ever closer by his heels. He pressed his mouth to the butler’s ear and hissed: “ _Fuck_ me, Sebastian.”

            The demon snarled — _snarled_ like whatever was clawing under the human skin he wore — and was inside of him.

            Ciel felt the skin on Sebastian’s cock roll back as he slid into the earl’s body. Ciel’s eyelids fluttered as he was overtaken by the satiating sensation of being filled as the demon bent him in half. _Yes_. He felt almost as if he were overflowing, having become acutely aware of the emptiness just as it was being filled. Ciel clamped around Sebastian appreciatively, hands falling to the pillows beside his head as he reveled in the pleasure.

            Sebastian grasped Ciel’s wrists in hands now tipped with razor claws and began to move in quick, languid thrusts. His body was throbbing on a blissful precipice of pleasure and overstimulation with every snap of the man’s hips. Ciel’s mind ground to a carnal halt as he was overtaken by his senses. The only thing he knew was the friction within him, and the heat of Sebastian’s member driving him to completion. There were noises, too. The bed was creaking and there was an awful, wet _slap_ every time the flesh between them collided. Ciel soon came to realize that there were breathy little gasps pervading the air as well: gasps that belonged to him, half-moaning nonsense and tiny noises that escalated in volume as they climbed to release.

            A low, rumbling growl from Sebastian’s chest brought Ciel back to reality.

            Ciel stared at the demon with wide eyes, hands coming to rest on the plane of Sebastian’s chest. The demon growled, low and feral, his eyes screwed shut as he readjusted his grip from Ciel’s wrists onto his hips. Shadows pooled and ebbed around them, pouring from Sebastian’s frame like a dark mist. Tendrils of the stuff ensnared Ciel’s wrists and throat, pinning him into place. His eyes rolled back in pleasure, the choking dizzily heightening the sensations: “ _Yes_ , please Sebastian!”

            The demon’s thrusts were gaining speed, drawing the pooling heat within Ciel to his core.

            Suddenly, Sebastian dropped his face to Ciel’s neck where the black tendril was slowly but surely constricting and releasing. He released a throaty chuckle that once more shook Ciel from his pleasured trance. “It’s hard to contain myself,” he remarked darkly, nuzzling into the stretch of skin where his neck and shoulder met.       

            Then the earl did the worst thing he could do, the most wonderfully submissive thing he could so ignorantly do, rolling his head aside to bear his neck fully to the teeth that ached to claim and mark and take the flesh beneath them. “I apologize, my lord.”

            Ciel was in no shape to respond, caught between the sensations of being momentarily strangled and released and the sticky-slick of Sebastian slamming his cock into him. And then, Sebastian sunk his teeth in harshly enough for Ciel to feel them slide against the muscles of his neck. Ciel gasped, the breath dying in his throat as the tendril around it tightened, but moaned when his body reacted to the pain with sudden fervor — pleasure blossoming in his neck and limbs and joining the pooling heat in his core. Sebastian lapped at the unbroken skin, his thrusts that had momentarily faltered picking up speed once again. His eyes were glowing orbs in the dark — electric violet with slit pupils, mirroring light into his master’s own.

            He steadied his hands on Ciel’s upper thighs, driving into his master with abandon. Ciel threw back his head as the heat within him threatened to explode — his prostate being thrust against time and time again.  His sac was throbbing and precum trailed down the length of his cock. A dark tendril of shadow secured around Ciel’s erection and  began to pump in rapid motion, Sebastian’s thrusts untimed and growing more forceful with each passing second. The demon was still growling lowly, his panting matching Ciel’s. The pressure, the heat, the friction was far too much to bear for either of them.

             Sebastian’s movements became erratic, and with three powerful thrusts, Ciel’s body seized around him, the earl releasing a strangled little noise as he trembled and came, surrendering to the feeling of hot release spreading over his body. The tendrils gripped him tighter than ever, choking him off from air. Sebastian’s breath caught in his throat as he climaxed in unison with his master, filling him.

            They then finally collapsed and it was over.

            The tendrils loosened. Ciel could feel the pleasure rolling off of him in waves. His mind and his body were completely numb, save for the remnants of sex trembling throughout his veins. Sebastian slid out from between his legs, producing a shockingly genuine little grunt as he extracted himself. It appeared that the demonic side had retracted back into his human skin, tendrils and all. He looked shockingly composed for someone who had been growling and biting and dripping with shadows seconds before.

            “Was that satisfactory, my Lord?” he inquired, his smug look tinged with more than just a bit of contempt.

            “Incredibly,” Ciel panted, staring at the ceiling as Sebastian climbed off of him and set to cleaning himself up. The butler crossed the room, returning moments later with a pitcher and washbasin full of crystal-clear water. He regarded Ciel again, coldly this time — they were both coming down from their sex high, the implications of what they had done settling around them like a dense fog.

            “Did you prove your point?” Sebastian inquired.

            “I did.”

            “Are you in pain?”

            “No.”

            Sebastian set the basin down on Ciel’s nightstand, dampened a handkerchief he produced out of nowhere, and began to stroke down his lord’s body, wiping the cum from his belly and from between his legs.

            “If you require nothing further, I think I’ll retire to my room now, my lord,” Sebastian said, dropping the soiled cloth into the washbasin. Ciel watched blankly as Sebastian stepped into a sliver of moonlight that crept in through a gap in the curtains: the blood within the basin defused, staining the water with curling red. Sebastian did not inquire further. He stepped over to the door, holding the frame lightly and glancing over his shoulder at the earl. He truly had completely regained his composure; again, a startling contrast between his earlier snarling self. “I’ll prepare breakfast and wake you a bit later than usual, my lord. You’ll need your rest.”

            Sebastian closed the door and Ciel was left alone with his aching body and muddy thoughts.

            “ _I hope you understand who you belong to, Sebastian_ ,” he rolled over, burying his face into a down pillow. “ _Because I certainly do not._ ”

**Xxxxxxxxxx**

            Warm day settled into cool night, bringing with it the thin fog that was so typical of evenings that sat on the cusp of summer and fall. Carriages rattled down the cobblestone paths, pausing before a town estate trussed up in deep shades of blue and trimmed in coal-black. Lights glowed beyond the drawn curtains, vague silhouettes sliding across the translucent glow of the fabric. From the cores of the carriages poured woman after woman, their faces turned downwards to allow their bonnets and hats — quite strange fashion statements for a nighttime event — to conceal their faces as they filed into the estate, each clutching a case or concealed parcel in their hands.

            An ornate carriage drawn by two chestnuts rolled up to the curb, the door swinging open to reveal a young woman in a white polonaise trimmed in black. A queue of white hair trailed down her back, silver eyes glinting under the cover of her feathered hat. The woman turned and extended her hand to the other occupant of the carriage. A frail, pale hand reached out and a dark-haired girl stepped unsteadily into the street. The woman in white reached out to steady her, allowing the girl to regain her posture.

            “ _Danke_ ,” the girl thanked her, rearranging deep green skirts over her feet.

            “ _Bitte shön,”_ the woman in white responded, reaching behind her to remove a leather suitcase from the confines of the carriage. The younger woman clung to her arm all the while, steadying herself. Once the case was retrieved, the woman in white clicked her tongue softly and set it on the curb, removing a handful of coins from her pocket. She deposited them in the outstretched hand of the cabby, who hummed appreciatively and pocketed the payment and the hearty hush money.

            “The same time?” he inquired.

            “The very same,” the woman in white replied, scooping up the suitcase. The cabby snapped the reins and pulled the horses away from the curb, allowing the next carriage to replace it.

            With tiny steps, the lady and her servant traversed the expanse of the front walkway, queueing up behind a sizable line of women awaiting entrance. Every several minutes the door would open and the next woman would offer up a calling card before being allowed entrance. As they crept forward, the girl in green began to fidget impatiently.

            “Why do they not let us in all at once?” she asked her servant in a low accented whisper, “It is damn clear who everyone is!”

            “Language, my lady,” the woman in white responded. “There is more tradition to the actions than practicality these days.”

            The girl in green made a grumpy noise, but protested no further. They advanced towards the door, which eventually opened after allowing in a trio of women. Within was a thin man dressed in grey, his eyes obscured by a domino mask. The woman in white presented a calling card emblazoned with a black wolf, to which the doorman nodded.

            “Welcome Sister Wolf, Sister Fox,” he said, swinging the door open and stepping aside to allow them passage. “Mother Doe awaits you.”

            The two stepped through, taking their time to allow the woman in green to advance with small steps as she clung to her servant’s arm for support. They entered what typically served as a drawing room, the doors held open by maids in black domino masks. Once the doors closed behind them, the girl in green heaved a sigh and all but tore the bonnet from her head. With her servant’s help, she shed the small overcoat and the green taffeta dress she wore, relieving herself of her corset with a thankful sigh. She shrugged out of her shift and bloomers, sitting on a provided chair to allow her servant to remove her boots and stockings. The white wrappings on her tiny feet were the only thing that remained. Finally, she reached behind her head and undid the twist in her hair, allowing the dark tresses to pool around her face and shoulders.

            Sieglinde Sullivan stood and stepped out of the pool of her clothing on the floor, reveling in the feeling of cool air on her naked skin. The woman beside her folded her mistress’ clothing and set it beside the suitcase they’d brought with them before stripping herself naked.

            “Are you excited for this evening, Mistress?” the woman asked, popping open the suitcase and setting the contents aside to replace them with their folded clothing.

            “Iris, when am I not?” Sieglinde all but scoffed, folding her arms beneath her pert breasts. She then abandoned the halfhearted pout and made to grab for the parcel which her servant bore. Iris smiled affectionately and placed the headdress over her mistress’ head. The mask sat like a cap, covering Sieglinde’s face down to the tip of her nose. It was an ornately carved piece—dark wood converted into the visage of a wolf. Green ribbons trailed from the back over the sheet of Sieglinde’s dark hair.

            Iris removed her mask next, a much less ornate guise of a white fox done up in red markings.  Taking their suitcase, the two exited the drawing room on the opposite side that they’d come, allowing another pair of maids to take away their case for safekeeping.

            Sieglinde smiled to herself as she made her way down the hallway towards the ballroom arm-and-arm with her servant. It had been five years since she’d arrived in England, and not one of those years had a disappointment in store for her.

            As it turned out, the Queen had quite an interest in Sieglinde’s intellect and had wasted no time providing lodgings, a handpicked servant, and enrollment at the University of London in exchange for the girl’s genius. Granted, it had been a hard decision for Sieglinde to make, reeling in the onslaught of the modern world coupled with the hurt and disillusion that occurred in the wake of The Green Witch Project.

            She knew that what the Queen wanted from her was the same thing that the German army had wanted as well — weapons. But having been brought to England in a shell-shocked state, Sieglinde had not yet realized the ultimatum she was being delivered: be placed under the protection of the Queen in comfortable conditions with the promise of intellectual and personal freedom as long as she was working for the Crown, or be surrendered back to the country she’d fled from into unknown and most likely unsavory conditions.

            Sieglinde looked down at her misshapen, bandaged feet padding forward in tiny child’s steps. She thought of Wolfram’s face contorted in pain. The sound of gunshots echoing through the train tunnel.

            Either way, the outcome was inevitable. And Sieglinde had quietly chosen the lesser of two evils.

            But along with her new freedoms and exposure to the modern world, Sieglinde had developed a strange affection for this country called England and the people within it. In the end, it was an odd sort of comfort knowing that she was assuring the protection of those around her — the honest and good people who asked her to create weapons of mass destruction to her face instead of using convoluted and damaging methods.

            There was something appealing about people being straightforward.

            With the freedom Sieglinde had obtained, her studies had flourished beyond her military work for the Queen. Chemistry was advancing rapidly — there had been two new elements discovered in the last several years alone — and was paving the way for all sorts of positive discoveries in medicine and the general field of science. There were a plethora of books to read, hundreds of subjects at her fingertips at the university, a thousand lifetimes of missing knowledge for her to delve into.

            But her curiosity in personal affairs had piqued as well, leading to a fascination with occultism and the supernatural that was so popular in that day and age. Beyond the layer of typical parlor tricks of floating tables and moving boards was an underbelly of the world sealed away from human eyes… and Sieglinde had delved into it like a feral beast upon raw meat.

            For one, witches — as it turned out — were very real, and magick was much more fun than chemistry trussed-up with alchemical symbols.

            Iris opened the door at the end of the hall and Sieglinde stepped alongside her into a ballroom full to bursting with naked women, each bedecked with the visage of their familiar. The four sects of the Coven came together on that night for the autumnal equinox — the Sabbat of Mabon. The ballroom was festooned in rich autumn colors, oranges and reds and copper-browns to match the altar pressed up against one wall overflowing with apples, grains, nuts, pomegranates, wine, and candles. Witches left their offerings there, careful to maintain the balance that the altar presented. Sieglinde had had her offering delivered earlier in the day in place of lugging it across London to Mother Doe’s estate: a huge, fat pumpkin that acted as the centerpiece.

            As she admired the altar, Sieglinde was approached by a familiar witch — a member of her sect of the Coven. Her chestnut curls brushed her shoulders, big brown eyes behind a white rabbit mask traced the curves of Sieglinde’s body as she admired the girl with an envious sigh.

            “You just get cuter every day!” she professed, clasping her hands beside her cheek. Sieglinde produced a smug smirk while Iris made to step between her and the other witch, scowling.

            “Unless you have business with Sister Wolf, I suggest you take your leave _Sister Rabbit_ ,” Iris said coldly, not bothering for modesty as she aggressively jutted her face into the other witch’s.

            “My, my!” Sister Rabbit giggled, lying a hand delicately over Iris’ white shoulder, “Are you feeling a bit jealous, Sister Fox? You know I love all women and you are _no_ _exception_.”

            Iris’ stare became blasé and she allowed Sieglinde to bat her out of the way. Tediously, she made her way over to Sister Rabbit, who offered the crook of her arm.

            “A minute, please Ir — Sister Fox?” the dark-haired girl requested, much to her servant’s chagrin. Iris quickly relented however, choosing to fix Sister Rabbit with the coldest glare she could muster as the two took their leave towards the library, where they were wont to have their private talks at every meeting before the ceremonies began. Sister Rabbit had a long-standing series of connections in the supernatural underworld, which were of great import to Sieglinde in consideration to her newfound discoveries on the nature of her dear friend Ciel Phantomhive’s relationship to his butler.

            Sister Rabbit squeezed Sieglinde close as they traveled, “As much of a treat it is to see you this way, I must say I’m disappointed to not get to see you in your new gown.”

            Sieglinde hardly contained a snort of disgust, “Your work is as impeccable as ever, Nina — Sister Rabbit — but I cannot understand those awful meat sleeves that are so fashionable these days”

            “Leg o’ mutton sleeves?” the seamstress provided with an amused giggle.

            “ _Fleisch_ sleeves,” Sieglinde insisted.

            The two entered the library where a pair of witches in bird and hedgehog masks were discussing the merits of rose quartz. They stopped to sweetly greet their sisters before turning back to their conversation. Nina helped Sieglinde to a plush armchair and waited for the pair to disperse before closing the door behind them and sitting opposite the younger woman.

            “So,” Nina began chipperly, clasping her hands together, “Any interesting tidbits?”

            Sieglinde hummed, propping her cheek up against her palm, “Unfortunately not. From what I can gather, the reapers are certainly taking their pre-Samhain celebrations seriously today. I could hardly scry my mirror without seeing them lustily tripping through.”

            Nina laughed, “For reapers, any fall celebration is an excuse for apple eating.”

            “I suppose so, but it makes my life that much more difficult. I don’t want to see reapers dogging every time I need to fix my hair,” she made a thoughtful face, “Only sometimes.”

            The seamstresses’ laughter increased in volume, “Oh, Sieglinde—you’re a veritable Oscar Wilde!” she declared mirthfully, her eyes narrowing deviously. “Perhaps in more than one way?”

            For once, Sieglinde actually had to fight down a blush. The coven was fairly forthcoming with their amorous plights and Sieglinde had been no exception. It was just that past month that she’d come to Nina asking for advice on her… precarious situation.

            Coming to a new country had been simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying. With Ciel sent away to school on account of his spleen, and Wolfram dead, there had been no one there to help her navigate a world of social customs and scientific advancements that were completely foreign to the witch. But despite his struggles, Ciel had still had the foresight to make accommodations for Sieglinde with the family of his intended: Elizabeth Middleford.

            Elizabeth was everything Sieglinde needed: friendly, patient, doting, and energetic. She was the one who had helped teach the witch the ways of high society and had even accompanied her to her first meeting with the queen. Even after Sieglinde had moved out of the manor and into her current residence with Iris, the two remained close friends.

            But as the years went on, lingering caresses and entwined fingers spoke more of a friendship. Elizabeth was tender touches and brave words. She was a woman of high society, but she was strong in both her morals and her body. Sieglinde had been fortunate enough to witness her prowess with the sword more than once, and the force and perfection of stance was more than a little erotic to anyone who watched, especially Sieglinde.

            It was very simple for Sieglinde to come to terms with the fact that she was hopelessly in love.

            And – despite Lizzy’s engagement to Ciel – Sieglinde wished for the same to be true of Lizzy. She felt rotten for it, but simultaneously was aware of the earl’s strictly-male preferences. Sieglinde figured that, in the end, it might work best out for the pair of them to marry one another. They would be unsuspected of any licentious wrongdoings in the eyes of society, and each could quietly and happily keep lovers of their preferred gender on the side.

            That was if Elizabeth was actually sapphist. Sieglinde could not help but notice the way Lizzy shied away from the male suitors her parents suggested as alternative choices to Ciel, who seemed determined to remain a bachelor. And more than that, it was impossible not to take note of the way Lizzy’s kisses lingered on her cheeks, the sweet puff of breath on one another’s lips as they came in close to inspect one another’s makeup – just a little too close for an excuse.

And thus, she had come to Nina – an outspoken sapphist herself – for advice.

            Other than encouraging Sieglinde to drop some less-than-subtle hints about her own preferences, the seamstress did not seem to have much advice of value to provide. She was much more interested in witnessing the chase than supplementing it. Sister Mouse, it seemed, was all about the gossip.

            Sieglinde shrugged. She wasn’t necessarily into Nina’s brand of chin-wagging, but she was more than happy to provide in order to gain insights unto her friend’s wellbeing. She continued, deftly ignoring the other woman’s earlier teasing, “But other than that, nothing much. The leanan sídhe across the street has been seeing a painter whose work seems to be promising, but it looks like she’s taken a liking to this poor poet boy, so who knows how much longer that has to last.”

            “Don’t you just _hate_ slow days?” Nina heaved a sigh, curls bouncing as she shook her head. Her brown eyes lit up regardless of the boring subject. Sieglinde sat up straight, interest piqued.

            “What have you learned?”

            “Word has trickled in via the mouth of a certain changling customer of mine,” Nina leaned forward, “And I believe we may have learned the identity of a certain Mr. Stiff.”

            SIeglinde immediately recognized Nina’s less-than-affectionate nickname for Ciel’s servant. In her studies of the shadow world’s customs, she’d discovered the purpose of the mark upon Ciel’s eye and Sebastian’s hand. Further confrontation with the Earl had revealed that he was not a devil worshipper as she had initially theorized, but rather merely a contractee — and had promptly refused to explain further. But with no other connection to the shadow world (other than a certain reaper’s frequent trips into Phantomhive beds), the clever witch had begun to puzzle out the details of the contract.

            As a witch, Sieglinde was more than aware of Faustian covenants; as the link between the human and shadow worlds, all witches were. They were dangerous and forbidden among witches, but well known, as violent cults which had chosen to bastardize the witches’ peaceable ways had thrown themselves headlong into Hell’s affairs. As a witch – and as Ciel’s friend – it was Sieglinde’s duty to track down these cults and stop them in their tracks. Reapers, as the forever-neutral bookkeepers of the shadow world, would no longer step in to stop covenants from being formed, and so the task had fallen to the witches. Even the slightest glimpse into the mystery that surrounded Ciel could make all the difference in uprooting a cult.

            “Well?” Sieglinde pressed. “Have you told Mother Doe?”

            “Not as of yet: this is all speculation on my part,” Nina admitted. “Word-of-mouth and all that.”

            Sieglinde made a rough noise, “Out with it, Nina!”

            “Well, according to my customer, there’s been a buzz among the supernatural in London. Long has it been known that, somewhere, a noble is contracted to a demon,” she paused for dramatic effect and Sieglinde wanted to throw something at her. “But for years, they have been unable to identify said demon. But it just so happens that a high-ranking demon happened across a noble fitting Earl Phantomhive’s description just this month and had some very interesting observations to make about his butler. And—.”

            “ _Und was_?!”

            “And it appears,” Nina smiled, “If that noble was indeed Earl Phantomhive as I suspect the reason no one has been able to identify Mr. Stiff is because he was _much_ higher-ranking than anyone had ever anticipated.”

            Sieglide’s heart became acidic and she all but fell back into her chair, “How high-ranking?”

            “Well, my client told me that — according to her source — such a contract between a demon this powerful and a human has not been struck since Faust and Mephistopheles.”

            “ _Scheiβe_.” Sieglinde swore into her palm.

            “Interesting news, but I don’t know how it bodes for you.” Nina looked sympathetic, “I can’t say I feel too terribly happy with the information — I’ve always been fond of Earl Phantomhive,” she jutted out her lower lip. “He was such an adorable boy… he and his br—.”

            “Is there anything else you learned? Did you let your source know you suspected the human was Earl Phantomhive?” Sieglinde snapped, interrupting Nina’s gushing. The seamstress looked taken aback, but not offended.

            “Of course not, darling. You know I would never rat out a valued client. But as for my source: I’ve told you all of what was said to me; no name to go with the mysterious butler. Though I’d imagine it’d hardly help to track down the cult, even if you found it. Most are devoted to high-ranking demons as is,” she explained. Sieglinde reclined into her seat, pinching the bridge of her nose.

            “Is there any way to contact this client of yours? Do you know who she heard it from?”

            “None other than the source herself, and my client refused to drop a name there as well.”

            “ _Wunderbar_.”

            “But I can see what I can get out of her the next time she comes ‘round to visit.” Nina reassured the Green Witch, reaching out to pat her knee gently. Worry clouded her face. “Although, I’d advise not to get involved with the source — that brand of demon is known to be particularly dangerous.”

            “What do you mean?” Sieglinde asked, feeling alarmed. Nina’s expression became withdrawn.

            “Succubus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone in this story is so salty.


	3. Rhododendron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that things will be getting a little crazy with us in the next few weeks due to finals and graduation, so I might mess up on posting every Thursday, but I'll do my best not to forget. Additionally, thank you all so much for your kind comments and kudos! We both really hope you enjoy this chapter!

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Three**

**Rhododendron**

_“How did I escape? With difficulty. How did I plan this moment? With pleasure.”_

– Alexandre Dumas

Precisely three weeks had passed since the foggy funeral of Argus Rutherford, leaving the Earl of Phantomhive in a state of melancholy malaise. He didn’t really want to think about recent events and so he had turned his attentions time and again toward the curious Rutherford case. Resolving to get to the bottom of it, he’d sat at the beautiful oaken desk provided him in his room. Its aged surface was worn where various blotters had laid, the inevitable drips of ink from years past still staining at its surface.

            He’d been able to discern quite a bit thanks to Sebastian’s espionage – not that he’d willingly admit to it. It seemed as though one of the sons, Roderich, had stood the most to gain from his father’s death and that his amicability had gained him quite a lot of clout with other wealthy businessmen. He recalled, too, that it was Roderich who was hanging by the side of that distasteful blonde woman who had insulted him so. It only made him seem the more guilty and unsavory.

            The problem was, of course, that he couldn’t make an arrest out of hearsay. He would have to back up his accusations with solid facts in order to pursue justice, yet these very details seemed to be slipping through his fingers. He again cursed his limited power: as a young child it would have been no chore at all to pin down the guilty, but now, without his status as the Queen’s Watchdog, his hands were proverbially bound.

            He couldn’t access mortuary records without some manner of persuasion and Fred Aberline was determined to keep his lips sealed – as blundering as he tended to be. It was admirable for the man, really, and he did slip up often, but Ciel realized he was just trying to maintain his job and he couldn’t rue him that, as frustrating as it often proved. Worse yet, he couldn’t supplicate Undertaker any longer because the bastard had gone off the rails with his Bizarre Doll experiments. He’d always been eccentric and a bit of a pain to work with, but he’d been reliable and discreet, too.

            Which left him Lau and his opium den that acted as a front for prostitution and information gathering. Or perhaps it was the other way around, Ciel had lost track. Whichever it was, the man was keenly adept at his trades and held steep prices for the news he dispersed. This of course didn’t guarantee his reliability not to sell one customer out to another, but the earl could at least rest easy knowing that few could pay more than he could, whether it be in money, goods, or associates.

            He groaned to himself and spread the documents he _did_ have over the worn table. Scant records here and fewer photos there made for a less than cohesive story. At least he knew what avenues to pursue: Roderich Rutherford had allegedly made some wire transfers to his coconspirators, and that, at least, could be traceable. Or subpoenaed should worse come to worse. Still, it was more impressive to hand over all the evidence in a fell swoop – and looked more promising in the Queen’s eyes, as well. He was certain the case would reinstate his title if only he worked hard enough.

            But his thoughts were apt to wander as dark imaginings clawed at the back of his mind. He’d been feeling restless and anxious lately, and it had little to do with the building case. The sensation had begun months ago, when he’d first come to stay at Middleford Manor.

            There was no hiding the fact that the cemetery grounds the manor property laid upon was the very same in which his parent’s remains were interred. It was bad enough to have the ever-present reminder right on the doorstep – their deaths, after all, hadn’t been anything short of traumatic for the young earl. What was worse, however, was that everyone chose to treat him and the matter alike with kid gloves, always shooting pointed glances over his shoulder at one another in silent reminder not to bring up his very dead parents. It made him feel like a child all over again. It wasn’t comfortable, sure – it probably never would be. But by the same token, he had accepted their passing and was capable of speaking of the matter frankly.

            He stared over his desk and out the diamond-cut glass of the window. Beyond the cemetery stretched upon rolling green hills, verdant lawns dotted with greyed headstones and the tiny figures of statues. There were no mourners out today, it seemed. He sighed softly, tying to detect the area in which his family plot resided.

            The funeral had reminded him quite acutely of those that had personally affected him. While he had never made it to his own parent’s funeral – chiefly on account of his extended family believing he, too, had perished in the fire – he had visited them upon his arrival, Sebastian in tow. He might have cried then, he couldn’t recall. Mostly he remembered the profound disbelief and shock.

            Even after enduring so much, he realized there was still a part of him that had hoped that things were better than they were. That maybe someone had survived. That he was so scared and shocked at the time that he hadn’t noticed particular signs. But no, only one of the entire household had made it, and that was Tanaka. For that much he was thankful, but the gentle old man could never replace his immediate family. It was at that moment that he felt more alone than he ever had, even from within the cages of the cultists.

            Then there was the funeral for his aunt, the woman who went by Madame Red. It was a ridiculous name that ended up serving her well. Ciel had only ever known her as Aunt Angela, Angie, even. He had been too young then to detect the jealous looks she shot his mother or the heightened interest she seemed to have in him. He just thought she was pretty – a bit loud – and kind. Even after unveiling her hideous string of murders, he couldn’t bring himself to hate or dishonor her. Her funeral was beautiful, almost poetically so. But with her passing went the last bit of family he had left to his name.

            Funerals, as a result, always seemed to acutely remind him of this loss. Death, of course, was inevitable. He had no real fears or qualms about that – unless, of course, it came prematurely in the case of his own ambitions. It wasn’t loss so much that affected him so, but the crushing sense of isolation and loneliness. That he no longer had anyone to turn to for unconditional love and support.

            Rather, such emotions made him feel all the more suspicious when other’s attempted to convey it to him. He had taken lovers throughout schooling, to be sure, but he could never say that he had been in love with them. He wasn’t even sure if he could say he felt love for them: he cared and valued some, but others were mere conveniences. He was comfortable with his own cold-heartedness, even when it made others cry.

            Sebastian hadn’t cried.

            Not that he had anticipated the demon would. But he had certainly been cruel to him, had acted out of anger and twisted up jealousy. Shame burned in his chest. He knew he treated his butler as subhuman at times because he wasn’t human or because he would take any order with a smile, no matter how humiliating. It was a fucked up game they played, pushing at each other and trying to find the limits. Ciel thought he had found it. It didn’t feel pleasant, either.

            He had expected he would feel glorious. Full of the ability to gloat and sneer and finally have an up on the demon. Something more useful than a contract, something that could actually wound. Sebastian had certainly seemed wounded three weeks ago.

            Ciel had made such an industry on building himself up, on dealing with others harshly, that he was genuinely surprised to realize he felt remorse for his actions. And not because it stopped benefitting him, rather because it had negatively affected someone else. It was uncomfortable to suddenly come to his senses. “I don’t like this growing up business,” he mumbled to himself.

            Things between him and the demon had become tense to say the least. Since the night of Ciel’s order the two had put up a charade of normalcy, in part for their company and in part for their own comfort. Neither liked to admit to their faults and were well aware of this shared trait. While Sebastian often would prod at his master on these points, this time he remained silent. The lack of teasing only emphasized how deeply the wound had cut.

            Despite their placid interactions, the two had stayed as far away from one another as socially possible. Sebastian served him rigidly, placing documents and trays of food before him stiffly, never brushing against the younger man as he usually did. Ciel had always associated the gentle touches with cats, noting the similarity of the two rubbing against their favorite things. He was no fool to realize that the act was less affectionate than it was a way for the demon to mark his scent on what he deemed his. The lack of this ritual, therefore, made the earl feel a bit put out. Perhaps he wasn’t so much as worth eating anymore.

            For his part, he had chosen to summon the dark haired man as little as he could possibly bear. He dressed himself quickly in the mornings – he had always been capable, of course, he merely stood on tradition in the past – and crafted his own daily schedule. He spent increasingly more time with Lizzy, which made his fiancée suspicious. She knit her brows and pat his shoulder caringly and pleaded he share with her what was on his mind. He laughed it off as casually as he could muster and made up inane excuses that he knew she didn’t buy.

            Sebastian had become like another limb to Ciel, he was such a constant part of his life, so vital to his daily routine. The demon’s absence made him feel utterly out of sorts, as if he had to recover from some physical injury that wasn’t really there.

            He tried to put the notion out of his head, but it was of no use. The thoughts of the morning mingled together and his shame intensified. He was already mortified at losing his family’s rightful title. He couldn’t help but feel he was bringing some amount of shame to the Phantomhive name. That alone would have made him duck in his father’s presence. To not be able to even consider himself a member of the ‘evil nobles’ any longer. But then to think...

            He closed his eyes and cradled his temples in his hands. He didn’t want to continue his train of thought. Didn’t want to imagine how his parents would think of him as he was, bitter and shrewd and closed-off. He especially didn’t want to think what they would say to his choices or to his acquiring of Sebastian. Or his treatment of the man.

            Surely they would be disappointed.

            Perhaps he wanted them to be, he rationed. It had been so long since anyone had tried to genuinely parent him. Always “yes sir”, “yes my lord”, “of course master”. There was no one to rein him in or to check his behavior. Sebastian certainly chastised him and punished him as he saw fit, but the man was in no means parental towards the earl. There was nothing genuine there, not that Ciel could see. No, he longed for sincere care, for the ability to disappoint, to have someone left to impress. Whose opinion he valued. It was like freefalling without it.

            “I can’t stand it in here anymore,” he said to himself, pushing away from his desk and stretching out his limbs. He couldn’t tell if the room had grown stuffy or if his thoughts had become muddled. Either way, a bit of fresh air would do him some good.

            Resolving himself, he made for the door, grabbing a thick woolen coat from the coatrack as he passed. Tugging the garment on, he fished in the pockets for some gloves – they were new, a shiny black leather – and pulled them on as well.

            Without saying a word to anybody – save for a polite exchange or two with the passing house staff – he made his way out the front door. It felt strange to go anywhere without Sebastian, but he shrugged the discomfort off. He could handle himself just fine, after all.

            As September progressed towards October the days had grown shorter and crisper, wind biting as his face and making it pink. Ambling along the drive, he made for the meandering path that cut across the graveyard. The rock that crunched underfoot petered out into dusty dirt, little clouds pluming around his boots. The going was easy, all downhill into the valley of tombs.

            Morbid as the scene was, it was pretty, orange trees sprinkling the landscape alongside the occasional crop of wildflowers and tangle of hedge. Headstones poked out of the ground like uneven teeth, turned this way and that as the earth settled around them. The soil itself was aromatic, cloying in a way only cemetery ground could be. It reminded Ciel of a certain mortician, and that rankled him.

            Putting the thought from his mind, he wove his way along the graves, ducking under the occasional barren tree limb, and stepping carefully over the places where the ground became uneven either from burrowing hares or the remains of crumbling statuary.

            The Phantomhive family plot occupied a fairly large portion of the upper cemetery – seated comfortably on the rise of the tallest hill it neatly overlooked the other tombs and monuments, facing the bordering forest resolutely. All of his father’s predecessors lay there, fenced in by white granite and curling black iron, the names – now foreign to his memory – stamped across the impressive stone.

            At the head of the plot lay his great-grandparents and grandparents, interred in a handsome tawny burial chamber that towered over the surrounding graves. Their wealth was all the more emphasized by the still-white statues that flanked the vault: Demeter to one side, worrying a wreath of grass and flowers between her demure fingers, and Hestia to the other, flaming stoker held aloft towards the earl.

            He turned from them impassively, noting how time had begun to take its toll in the inching of ivy across the surface of the stones, grass growing long and lush against the base. It was under the watchful eye of the chamber that the grave of his parents sat, demarcated in concrete that had already begun to crack. It didn’t seem like so long ago that he had seen it as a child, but here too, time was relentless.

            He sat on the granite border across from it, scanning the spacious plot. It was strange to see after so much time. It was smaller than he had remembered, although still generous in size. Two small markers flanked the central headstone. He had been disturbed as a child to have seen his own name stamped across one, a death date following his birth date.

            He had been told it was a respectful move on the part of those in charge of the Phantomhive affairs – for all that was known, he had perished, and, without anything to bury, they had marked his passing alongside his parents in a silent nod to his existence. The plot still remained for whenever he did pass: someone would have to buy him a new marker, of course, but at least he could say that his affairs were in order.

            Taking in the smooth white headstone that sat in the center, he reevaluated the marker with adult eyes. It was beautiful, carved simply and elegantly. The name ‘Phantomhive’ was etched neatly across the head, above which was a small alcove depicting a blossoming pair of roses, one stem bent and drooping. “An untimely death,” he murmured aloud, now familiar with the symbology. “How fitting.”

            Beneath this, the stone was inscribed in two parts: to the left was ‘Vincent Phantomhive 1858-1885’ and in symmetry to the right was ‘Rachel Phantomhive 1859-1885’. It felt just as gut-wrenchingly real to read the words as it had some six years prior. Nothing seemed to reinforce the finality of death so much as a gravestone.

            He had always been curious, however, about the banner stretched out beneath his parent’s dates, a fanciful scroll which bore the words, “The Light Of The Soul Shines Beyond Its Time”. He had never found out who had picked the phrase, nonetheless discerned the implication beyond it. Was it to mean that memory persisted beyond mortality? Or was it more literal? Did it mean that progeny made the dead immortal?

            Shamefully, he ducked his head, unable to stare any longer at the marker. “I’m sorry,” he muttered aloud. “Would you loathe me, I wonder?” Even the words tasted bitter on his tongue. He knew he shouldn’t beg askance from a stone.

            No, that’s not what he’d come for. He wouldn’t grovel before the memory of his parents, before the memory of the child he used to be. Unbidden, words bubbled up from his throat, and he found himself recounting the days since their parting, little vignettes of his life –the good and the bad – in nonsensical order. When hot pinpricks of oncoming tears threatened to spill from his lashes he felt all the worse.

            “I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely aloud. “It isn’t my place to cry. It isn’t correct to cry because I’m not crying for you… even when I have promised myself I shall never cry again.”

            A strained laugh escaped his lips, paired with a forced smile. “I wish you could hear me,” he mumbled brokenly. “I could really use you both right now, more than you’ll ever know. I have needed you. I… have nowhere left to turn.”

            He felt so sick of everything. Sick of feeling alone, of having to fend for himself, of having to be strong, of not knowing what was right. Of thinking. Feeling. “I feel too disgusting,” he admitted softly. “I’m far too confused for my own good.”

            “Perhaps you need illuminating?” a crisp voice punctuated the silence. Ciel jolted, turning sharply from his parent’s grave to stare down the intruder. He rose abruptly, feeling himself flush angrily all the way up to his ears – he knew he must be a sight, speaking so plainly and wearing such an open expression. He was sure his eyes were still puffy from nearly crying.

            The woman stood only a few paces away, eerily still as if she’d been there for quite a long time. She was very tall, made all the more so by the princess-line walking dress that highlighted her column-like frame. The material was rich, an emerald green that mirrored her piercing eyes perfectly. Her golden hair was swept from her shoulders, gathered in large coils behind her head and secured in place with a black fascinator. Altogether, she cut an intimidating figure, but Ciel held his ground. He had the uncanny feeling that he’d seen her somewhere before.

            “Are you quite well, Lord Phantomhive?” she called out again, expression not quite meeting her tone.

            Ciel fought from narrowing his eyes outright. The rudeness was reminder enough. “I’m surprised to see you here again, and so soon,” he answered instead. Of course: the strange and infuriating woman from the Rutherford affair.

            He scanned their surroundings surreptitiously. He couldn’t fathom how he hadn’t heard her come up. Distantly he realized the matter would never have arisen if he’d simply brought Sebastian along. In the distance lay the opposite end of the cemetery, a road running just beyond it. He had noticed it many a time from his bedroom window at the Middleford Manor. Upon the path sat a handsome black carriage, its horses and driver nearly indistinguishable at their length.

            “Yes,” the woman was speaking again. “As am I to see you.”

            Ciel wouldn’t allow her to dodge the question so easily. “What brings you out to such a place?” he asked. Then, quirking a slight smile, “And unaccompanied, at that?”

            Her smile tightened slightly, giving him pleasure. “I’m out for a stroll,” she answered instead. “I found this place to be quite charming when I was here last and I thought I’d take a turn about the headstones.”

            “A bit more morbid than a garden,” the earl commented.

            “I suppose,” the blonde hummed. “But I find the lack of people rather enjoyable. Perhaps you feel the same?”

            “Quite.”

            Again Ciel was forced to contemplate her involvement in recent events. Hanging off the arm of Roderich Rutherford she was almost certainly implicated in his seedier dealings. He wondered vaguely what benefit she had to gain from such an affair: perhaps the chance to marry the elder brother and gain from him a plush life? She certainly seemed every bit the spinster, so there could be no doubt she would jump at the chance to alter her status.

            The woman laughed at his shrug-off, looking him over perceptively. Ciel fought the urge to shift before her glance, feeling as if she was looking through him rather than at him. At length her look fixated just below his own, secured firmly on his midsection. A curious smile twitched across her expression, and when it grew, the ivory of her teeth peeked through painted lips.

            “Visiting family?” she asked rather rudely, indicating to the headstones between them.

            “You could say that.”

            “Shame they can’t be here now.”

            “Most would just say ‘sorry for your loss’.”

            “Oh, but you must be sick of hearing that?” the blonde pressed. Something about her tone was overly familiar and insincere.

            Ciel sniffed lightly, biting back his retort. “It’s been more than half a decade since their passing and I still get such sentiments.”

            “How tiring,” the woman laughed shortly. “Even you must feel the same: wanting them to see the man you’ve become, what with such an estate and repute and handsome valet.”

            The earl was already quite sick of hearing how he ‘must’ feel from such an impudent person, and his guard only rose the more at the mention of Sebastian. He had yet to forget the ‘bachelor’ comment.

            “There’s no use in dreaming of impossible things,” he returned curtly. Her words churned in his mind. What interest would his family have had with a servant? And what more, what interest did the woman have in Sebastian? Fighting a frown, he recalled their previous exchange, in which she’d seemed equally as keen to know of the demon.

            Before she had chance to speak, he inquired, “You seem to be well acquainted with me, so would you mind sharing your own name?”

            “Oh my, have I never introduced myself?” the other hummed, pressing a hand delicately to her breast. “How terribly uncouth of me.”

            ‘ _Indeed,’_ Ciel grumbled to himself. ‘ _And how disingenuous as well.’_

“My name is Maeve Fitzpatrick,” she offered with another bared-toothed smile that came across as more predatory than pleasant.

            “Pleasure,” the other returned stiffly. He’d be certain to remember her this time around, not to mention do some digging on the name she had given. It wasn’t uncommon that those around him went by aliases, and with as peculiar as she had been acting, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was easy to turn up dirt on her.

            Maeve insisted the pleasure was all hers, turning about the scene with a watchful eye. “I suppose you are right about my being unattended,” she said at length, catching Ciel off guard.

            “Oh?”

            “Why yes, it’s become quite dangerous as of late, has it not?”

            “How do you mean?” the earl inquired slowly. While he undeniably had an idea of the state of England, the majority of the horror wasn’t available to the masses.

            “Well with all of the strange violence that’s been happening across the country,” she pressed, gauging his reaction steadily.

            “There seems to always be violence in this country.”

            “But with those animal attacks,” she insisted. “They say that there have been panthers sighted in Devon and Cornwall, even.”

            “What, in the moors?” Ciel snorted. “They’ve been saying that forever; it’s hardly reason for alarm.”

            “Oh,” Maeve sighed, sounding nearly disappointed. “I thought not. But what of those reports of the dead coming out of their graves?” she asked, glancing about them pointedly.

            “Can’t be more than superstition,” the younger insisted. Still, he was wary. He naturally had heard of the same, only with the caveat of knowing that those involved had been paid a handsome sum to never speak of their experiences. With what he had seen aboard the _Campagnia_ , he could very much believe that reanimated corpses were going about the countryside and attacking unsuspecting Brits.

            “Not much of one for the supernatural, are we?”

            “Not really…” Ciel drawled slowly.

            “A shame, that. Well on any count, I must disagree with you,” the blonde smiled conspiratorially. “I met a woman whose husband had been attacked by one,” she admitted in a rush. “See, it was early in the morning and he was going for a stroll. Well, his property borders a graveyard same as here. When he drew close to the headstones, he saw something strange. Said it was a woman in a dirty black dress. Well at first he thought she was some lost mourner, and he called out to her. She didn’t seem to hear him, so he called again. When she didn’t respond, he went out to her.

            “When he was only a meter or so to her, he noticed that there was a piece of silk cloth tied about her eyes. Before he could inquire, she turned to him and began to approach. Had this funny walk, he said, like her limbs were slightly disjointed. Well, she walked right up to him and you know what? She bit him straight on the arm – and that’s only because he had raised it to shield himself. Even after he shook her off, she kept coming at him, aiming for his throat of all things.

            “Well as you can imagine, he raced on home and told his wife all about it. They called the constabulary and had them examine the area. They combed the whole graveyard, but aside from some blood from the gentlemen, they didn’t find a scrap. Now tell me that’s not odd.”

            “How horrible,” Ciel commented distantly. His mind was spinning, full of questions. How was it that the blonde knew so much that he did not? Just who was she and what more did she know? How did she extract it from her source? Perhaps she was just lying for dramatic effect?

            He eyed her subtly, noting her posture and undisturbed expression, too calm for the average lady. Even his aunt Francis would have paled at such a tale, and she was afraid of nothing. There was no doubting that Maeve – whoever she was – had been serious about her tale. Which only made her the more suspicious in Ciel’s book.

            ‘ _Knowing that much about Bizarre Dolls,’_ he thought. _‘Could she have some dealing with Undertaker? Could she know him, perhaps? At least it’s good to hear that his creations haven’t evolved like that Johann Agares fellow. Still unable to hear or see, perhaps not even smell. It’s as if they’ve reverted back to the prototypes we saw aboard the Campagnia. Perhaps the Aurora Society has stopped backing him?’_ he shot a quick look to Maeve. _’Maybe she’s an acting member? It could explain a lot.’_

            Either way, he had an uncomfortable sensation as if the best person to ask would be Undertaker himself. And that would implicate asking Sebastian to go rooting around for answers. The concept didn’t sit well with the earl. Besides, after what had transpired between them, the butler was more likely to perform in a way just to spite him.

            Maeve was talking again, and he hadn’t quite heard her. “You know, your words have given me some pause,” he spoke up, carefully trying to extricate himself from the conversation. He really wanted to spend as little time in the woman’s company as possible, in part for her unsettling demeanor and in others for his desire to get to work. “I really should see to my fiancée and ensure that she’s safe about her own grounds.”

            “How charming of you, Earl Phantomhive,” the blonde smiled. It felt too icy. “I shouldn’t wish to keep you from your family.”

            Ciel hesitated, caught off guard by the strange phrasing. “Right, well it was lovely chatting with you. Do travel safe.” He barely gave her space to exchange the courtesy before turning and making his way back down the hill towards his lodgings.

            The blonde watched him go thoughtfully, tracing a thumb across her bottom lip. He was an interesting one, the little Phantomhive. Not minding her skirts, she began to walk in the opposite direction, making quick time across the cemetery grounds and drawing short beside her waiting carriage.

            From over her shoulder she could make out the retreating form of the young earl. Turning to the stout buggy manning her black lacquered carriage, she straightened her expression into a mask of placidity. The creature before her was huddled over, fiddling with a can of snuff.

            “Hobb,” Maeve spoke casually, tapping impatiently on the side of the carriage.

            There was a snort as the hobgoblin inhaled his tobacco, “Yessum?”

            “The _door_ , Hobb?” Maeve pressed through gritted teeth.

            Groaning, the man took to his feet and climbed down from the front seat, turning to open the door with great gusto. “My _lady_ ,” he uttered in a stilted upper class accent, spinning his hand in a circle and bowing deeply. Maeve rolled her eyes and stepped up into the carriage, settling her skirts over the plush seat.

            “To the Grange?” Hobbs asked, leaning on the frame of the door.

            “No,” Maeve said, relaxing into the deep red pillows that occupied the carriage interior. “Take me to see Robin.”

            Hobb produced yet another exasperated groan, leaning down to massage his creaky knee, “This punishment for insubordination, muh lady?”

            “I need information, and Mister Goodfellow is the best to provide it,” Maeve explained, sending him away with a flick of her wrist. Hobb shut the door and she smiled to herself. “Not that I mind seeing you squirm,” she added softly.

            A snap of the horse’s reigns and the carriage creaked to life. Maeve propped herself up and gazed wearily out the window as the semi-countryside gave way to more buildings and city life. Outside, darkening clouds sounded rumbles across their bellies. The succubus tapped a claw against her lap, sucking her lip between her teeth.

            “Phantomhive, Phantomhive…” she repeated to herself, “Now where do I know that name?” Of course everyone who was someone had heard of the once-great noble family, but the particulars seemed to escape her. She grit her teeth in frustration.

            As they approached their destination, Maeve reached into her purse and extracted a calling card. It was far simpler than that of her other colleagues’ — most supernatural were transfixed with a grandiosity that very well bordered on tacky, but Maeve chose to let her subtleness do the talking. _Maeve Fitzpatrick_ was printed in neat, green ink across the middle, framed on caddy corners in rhododendron.

            The carriage finally ground to a stop and Hobb popped open the door, sticking in his stout fingers to retrieve the calling card. Maeve sat patiently for another moment, listening as raindrops began to pelt the roof and windows of the carriage. Thankfully, Hobb had enough wherewithal to provide his mistress an umbrella the next time he opened the door.

            “The priss says ‘come right in’,” Hobb reported, his face contorting sourly. Maeve leaned aside to remove a brass skirt lifter from her pocket, using the clamshell tip to gather up her skirt and petticoats in one hand before leaning out of the carriage and taking the umbrella from Hobb with the other. She glanced up at the front of the gentleman’s club, taking in the golden lettering above the door: _Goodfellow’s_.

            While women’s gossip was born in the afternoon visits to sunny parlors in private estates, men’s thrived within the stately halls of gentlemen’s clubs. Maeve could choose to nitpick through the ranks of every female friend of semi-importance to find the answers she desired, but she found it much more expedient to travel straight to the hub of social smearing and deception. Although the doors of Goodfellow’s were closed for the day, the very kingpin of gentleman’s gossip was ever present, and he was smoking a cigar in front of a fireplace the moment Maeve entered the library.

            Robin Goodfellow appeared as a wiry dandy — face thin and pale and topped with a shock of red hair, but still possessed by a sort of boyish handsomeness that had yet to fade in some eight hundred years.

            “Dear Maeve,” he said, displaying rows of gleaming white fangs as he crossed the room. He took her hand in the one that was not occupied by a cigar and pressed his warm lips to the back, “A pleasure to see you, as always.”

            “Robin you flatter,” Maeve smiled her own sharp teeth right back, allowing him to lead her to a wine-colored armchair.

            “Oh, I never flatter when it comes to you, my pretty.” The fae grasped a crystal decanter full of dark red liquid off of the table beside her chair and perched the cigar in the corner of his mouth as he poured two glasses, “And what do I owe this call to, love?”

            “Am I not allowed to simply see an old friend?” Maeve teased. Robin smiled around his cigar, black eyes twinkling. Maeve concealed a laugh behind her hand, “Oh alright. If you must know, I need some information — and a phonecall.”

            “Oooh, that’s all anyone ever wants from me since I put in the damn thing!” Robin declared bombastically, puffing smoke as he talked. “But I would be more than happy to let you use it. Now, what sort of gossip are you interested in?”

            “Information,” Maeve corrected sweetly, accepting the goblet he offered her. She took a sip, her nose wrinkling in distain. “Oh Robin, _wyvern_? _Really_?”

            “Oh, come now — it’s all the rage in Paris and the loup-garou won’t stop demanding it.”

            Maeve ignored the excuse and continued, “I want to hear information on the family Phantomhive.”

            Robin sputtered in his glass a little, dribbling wyvern blood down his lips, “Oh. _That_ lot.”

            Maeve perked up at the reaction, “I take it you know them?”

            “Awful bunch of humans, absolutely _crawling_ in reaper ties — do you know that the master librarian was paling around with them for _decades_? That Vincent Phantomhive would come prancing in here without a care in the world and that turncoat wastrel—.”

            Maeve jolted as if she had received a shock, “Vincent?”

            “Yes, yes — one of the Queen’s Watchdogs, done in around ten years ago by a load of humans with him on their list. Good riddance I say—.”

            “Did this Vincent attend Weston College by any chance?” Maeve interrupted. Robin blinked, a bit taken aback by the sudden inquiry.

            “I — well.” He stopped, taking a long drag off of his cigar, “I don’t quite remember…”

            “Grey hair? Hazel eyes?” Maeve pressed a fingertip to the corner of one eye, “A beauty mark right here?”

            Robin snapped his fingers, nodding emphatically, “Yes, yes, that’s the one.”

            Maeve clenched her jaw, nodding stiffly. She’d never laid eyes on the boy, but she’d had the description rattled off to her enough times to drill it into her mind permanently. She was caught between laughter and chewing a hole through her lip — how coincidental indeed that his son would end up in the very position as his father’s former classmate. How very stupid of her not to do in the boy while she could have; he’d proved to be enough trouble, not only bringing a powerful reaper into the equation, but emerging from the ordeal unscathed.

            “And the turncoat?” Maeve asked.

            “Mm, he buggered off about five years ago.” Robin rolled back on his heels, “Unfortunately I can’t say where to, plenty of my clients were right sore about that. But enough about that; have you heard of his son? Contracted to some anonymous demon—.”

            ‘ _Not as anonymous as you might think_.’ Maeve thought smugly.

            “—right about the time his father was done in. Things have been fairly quiet on that end, too, however. I think the boy himself decided to take some time off from his dog duties and attend the college—.”

            “Right.” Maeve interrupted, setting down her chalice and suddenly taking to her feet. Robin made a slightly-alarmed noise and set his down as well.

            “Maeve darling is everything—.”

            “That’s all I need. Where do you keep your phone?”


	4. Petroselinum Crispum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Moosey here again, and I just wanted to continue to thank all of you for your kind reviews and all of your kudos! As always, we hope you're enjoying the story and we'd love to hear from you. We're always excited to get to chat with our readers!   
> Other than that, we're coming into a busy part of our lives for the next few weeks (finals, graduation, moving home, vacation, etc) as I so often mention. Again, we'll do our best to keep up our Thursday night update schedule, but we'll see what happens. In the meantime, please enjoy chapter four!

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Four**

**Petroselinum Crispum**

_“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.”_

– Mary Shelley

            La maison de Brun was far from as plain as the humble name suggested. It sat squarely between a boulangerie and an apothecary upon the avenue de Friedland, unassuming and refined on its exterior. It had – as most Parisian mansions were wont to have – crème colored walls festooned with elaborate scrolls and cherub gargoyles bearing shields; wrought iron balconies embossed with gold leafing and teeming with boughs of creeping pastel flowers.

            But inside, apart from the bustling streets and whirring life of the city, was another existence paraded around in gaudy swathes of pink. She sat cloistered upon the third floor, sprawled gracelessly over an ornate divan, loose curls splayed out like a halo. Oriental rugs chorused about her in vivid swatches of reds and golds, contrasting garishly with the swags of mint green which dressed the windows. A maid sat within the window seat, mending a skirt with flickering fingers, all but fading away into the wallpaper were she was not illuminated by the light from the window. A dusty copy of The Swing sat in its gilded frame above the mantle, bordered by ivory tapers whose wicks were burned down at asymmetric angles.

            The lounging woman sighed, admiring the face of a porcelain doll with equally fragile looking fingers, tracing over the lips and brushing through the hair. It was an unfinished piece, only half painted, but he was, in her opinion, her finest piece yet, and soon he too would become another pair of frozen eyes to fill the glass case lined walls. An ornate black card lay beside her on a marble table, detailing the mournful tidings of M. Crémieux, but her fingertips brushed passed it in favor of the open tin of violet flavored aniseed candies.

            "A pity, no?” she announced in melodious French, startling her maid into alertness.

            "Pity?" the mousy woman echoed.

            "Yes, that he did not love me," the younger pouted, pale cheeks growing rosy. "But," she said with a dramatic sigh, pressing the doll to her chest. "Now he’ll never leave me, no?"

            The maid started and set back to her sewing, unnerved at the thought that the only pair of living eyes in the entire room of hundreds were the grey ones from the couch. "A pity, yes," she nodded frailly.

            There was a pause where both women immersed themselves in their own thoughts, once again punctuated by the younger's outburst. "He held a door for me once, during a party," she added in earnest. "That was when I knew I loved him. He was perfect."

            A dozen more lovers stared wordlessly back.

            The maid jumped again as the telephone rang shrill throughout the whimsical apartment, fumbling with her work to answer it as her mistress let out an excited exclamation of, "Telephone for me!"

            "H-hello?" she stuttered, gripping the receiver. "This is _la maison de Brun_."

            A voice replied on the other side of the line, and the mistress of the manor leaned in intently to catch a trace of it. The maid blinked, taken aback by the caller's words.

            "A-Ah! Who is speaking?"

            The caller's tone grew more confidant, and the young mistress squealed in delight, springing from her throne and all but throwing the fragile doll away from herself. She seized the receiver in her fit of joy, casting the maid off much like a doll and ignoring the pained scream that resulted.

            "Maeve, my sweetness!" the brunette cooed in liltingly-accented English. "La, I haven't heard from you in ages!"

            "Cosette Brun, how are you?" the caller purred back, voice feminine and honeyed. The home’s mistress giggled, nonchalantly wrenching away the pesky foreign hand that still held on to the receiver.

            "Oooh, I could ask you the same thing, Maeve! How long has it been? Thirty years or so?" she sighed pleasantly, finally extracting the stray appendage.

            "Dearest, the last thing I want is to offend you;" Maeve frowned through the phone, "But I believe you just killed your servant in a fit of joy."

            "Oh?" the brunette blinked, suddenly letting go of the mangled hand as the maid's fresh corpse crumpled to a broken heap on the rug, head lolling insignificantly to the side. The porcelain dolls around her looked upon her with apathy as equally owlish as their mistress. The woman giggled to herself as she turned back to her conversation, toying with a stray curl and flipping the rest carelessly over her shoulder. "Oooh, la! You know how I get when I hear from you, Maeve," she dismissed girlishly. "Now! What have you been up to?"

            "Just the usual," came the standard reply, as if the woman on the other line had become suddenly disinterested. "But I have a small problem that I may need your help with, Cosette."

            "Oh?" the other cooed, head cocked curiously.

            "Yes, it specifically requires your… expertise," the blonde intoned, voice dropping. Cosette quieted, eyes flitting across the fanciful room to her first two dolls ever made: a handsome black haired male and a petite female done up with curled dove’s feathers. Cosette withdrew her gaze, skimming determinedly past the out-of-place ladder that accessed the attic above her. Forcing her thoughts back around, she uttered a low hum, weighing the odds.

            "Well, it depends if he stayed by her side or not," she explained, twirling her hair a bit more roughly than necessary. "If the male is out of the picture then it's a simple procedure; but I take it he's stuck around if you've called from all the way out there," she pouted with a sigh. Oh, how she hated instigating such work.

            There was an ironically pregnant pause before Maeve continued, tone laced with gossipy glee. "Oh no," she corrected. "It's not a she."

            Cosette sat back on her heels, frowning in confusion before the thoughts all clicked together. Instantly, she erupted in a pitchy peal of shrieks, throwing an arm about her sides ungracefully as she laughed. "A man?" she cried. " _A man_!"

            "What's more is that he's a well-to-do earl," the other woman explained around Cosette's gasping laughter. "One of the Queen's Watchdogs."

            "Ohhhh, la!" she exhaled heavily, sides still aching with raw amusement, a deranged smile plastered across her innocently painted lips. "Oh, Maeve. I haven't heard anything this juicy in _at least_ three hundred years," she tittered, fruitlessly trying to recount the events of their kind on her fingers.

            "I haven't even gotten to the best bits," the distant blonde whispered secretively. "First of all, our fellow in question," there was a dramatic pause as Cosette held the receiver closer, as if its mere presence would explain all. "Belongs to the earl."

            The brunette reeled back in surprise, mouth forming a perfect little 'o'. "Belongs?" she gaped excitedly, a hand cupping her cheek and smearing it ever so slightly with scarlet. "By contract, you mean?"

          "By contract," the other replied matter-of-factly. "I could smell it the second I met them – oh and darling—.”

            The younger woman wrinkled her nose in mock disapproval, interrupting her friend. "I can see why you called me up, then!" she said with a small tut. "Oh dear, I have a feeling this will prove to be quite a mess." Her face crumpled at the thought as she strode over to her coffee table, setting about for her fountain pen and day planner, written in the various hands of short-lived maids.

            “You didn’t even let me finish,” Maeve said, sounding more than exasperated. Cosette sighed, nibbling her pen impatiently. She heaved a sigh.

            “ _Well_ then?”

            “Do you recall the last time I asked for your assistance?” Maeve inquired.

            “Hm, yes,” Cosette mused, brow crinkling. “That was the Owen debacle, _non_? Oh — how is my little _abeille_ by the way?”

            “And the boy with the pet reaper, do you remember that as well?”

            Cosette huffed, blowing a stray curl out of her face, “Maeve, how could I _forget_? I don’t want to think about — about what they nearly did to _mon petit coeur_!”

            The outburst caused a rattling from the attic, the sound of massive wings beating and claws scraping across wood filled the apartment for a moment before relaxing back into unsettling silence.

            “The point is,” Maeve continued on, regardless of Cosette’s upset, “The earl is the son of that very boy.”

            “The son?” Cosette whispered, the hurt congealing into the curdled promise of revenge. “Oh Maeve how _divine_.”

            “Oh and dear, that isn’t even the juiciest bit,” Maeve laughed darkly, “You’ll never guess who contracted with him.”

            “Who?” Cosette hissed, grey eyes widening as she leaned into the receiver, “Who? _Who_?”

            Maeve spoke the name and Cosette nearly dropped the phone.

            “Him?” she said flatly, “ _Him_?! Maeve that must be a mistake it can’t — a contract with a _human_?”

            “It explains the absence,” Cosette could all but hear the blasé shrug in Maeve’s tone. “And makes for good gossip besides. Keeping that information in mind — when do you think you and your feathered friend will be able to come to town?" Maeve asked, almost on cue. Cosette gave a resigned sigh, keeping her eyes from floating up towards the ceiling by burying them in the scribbled whirl of dates.

            "September, October… Year of Our Lord –" she paused with a breathy giggle, "— 1893, Sunday…" she trailed off, running a finger down the ledger of dates before tapping upon the seventeenth with finality. "Well, if you'd like me to bring him along…" she sighed theatrically, ticking off dates once more. "I'd say Monday the second, at latest."

            "Knowing you, it will be Tuesday," the other replied flatly.

            "Oh, poo! I'll be there when I'll be there, Maeve!" the brunette scoffed, painted face creasing into a pout. "And you're very welcome, by the way!"

            "Of course, of course," Maeve replied in an eerily dismissive way. "I'll make sure to have the most comfortable arrangements for you two," she supplied, voice inflated and honey-sweet once more.

            "Be sure to get plenty of those bath salts I like!" Cosette ordered shrilly, impervious to the charms of words. "You'll give them the usual message, then?"

            "I'll be sure to do both," the woman replied, patronizingly sweet. "Goodbye, darling. I'll see you on Tuesday."

            "Monday!" the brunette squawked as the line cut out, leaving her alone in the rocaille house with naught but still dolls and a corpse.

**Xxxxxxxxxx**

            An entire day had passed since Ciel’s inauspicious chance meeting with the blonde, his nerves still not set aright from their exchange. He had headed back to the manor as promised, sliding himself in through the wide front doors and catching the curious glances of the servants. Sebastian had paused in his rounds about the house, gazing at him over the banister. He gave a near imperceptible cock of his head, lips curling into a sneer or a snarl, Ciel couldn’t be sure which. Without casting him another look, the demon had turned and retreated down the hallway.

            Shaking off the weird reaction, Ciel made for his room, intent on writing down everything he could recall alongside his mounting suspicions. Would have, in fact, had Lizzy not come across him at the perfect moment. He did his best to ward her off but she persisted, tone as steadfast as her mother’s and brooking no argument.

            It was rare that he got to see her in this manner as they were usually around others. But in recent years, the once passive blonde had grown resolute and bricky, speaking to him in private as any man would. It was refreshing, in Ciel’s opinion, yet also frustrating. It just meant that he had to try all the harder to extricate himself from her company.

            Begrudgingly, he let her win, offering his arm and allowing himself be led about the house. She took him to the parlor to speak with her sister-in-law and brother, then to the nursery to see her baby nephew. At length, she steered them towards the gardens, finding a secluded stone bench behind a tangle of white roses. It had been a favorite secret spot of hers as a child, and she had many a time taken Ciel there to play.

            Sitting him down, she turned a serious expression on him. “What is going on, Ciel?” she asked, full of concern and determined not to let him wheedle out of the question.

            “What do you mean, Lizzy?” the earl sighed. He knew there was little use arguing with her, especially when her mind was made up.

            “With you,” she returned. “And with Sebastian. You two are scarcely inseparable, save for now. You’ve been in a state for weeks and won’t talk to me about it no matter how much I ask. Then you go off for a stroll this morning alone. It’s more than a bit strange, isn’t it?”

            “I _am_ an adult, you know.”

            “What of it?” Lizzy frowned. “That has nothing to do with it and you know it. You just don’t want to confess to me that the two of you have had some kind of row.”

            Ciel’s words caught in his throat and he closed his mouth with an audible click of teeth. The blonde’s brows rose, looking triumphant.

            “There! See? I’m not dumb, you know,” she pressed. “I notice what’s going on, especially with you.” Worry clouded her expression once more. “I just wish you would trust me a fraction as much as I trust you.”

            “Lizzy…” the other protested, guilt swelling within his breast. “I do trust you. I just… want to keep you safe, as well.”

            “Ignorance keeps no one safe.”

            “I… I know,” Ciel faltered, taken aback by her clarity. She really had matured before his eyes, and at times he had to wonder if she was more adult than he was. “Things with Sebastian have always been… complex,” he worded carefully. “We used to get on horribly when we first met, do you remember that?”

            Lizzy nodded slightly.

            “It’s just a growing phase in our relationship,” he assured her, wishing he felt as assured himself. “I’ve changed a lot in the last few years, especially as I’ve taken on more responsibilities. It must be hard for him to adjust to such differences. Not to mention, our personalities have… shifted. We’re just learning to get to know one another again as new people. It takes time and space.”

            “Alright,” the young woman sighed. “I don’t want to doubt you, Ciel. Thank you for sharing with me.”

            “Of course, Lizzy,” the earl replied, chest feeling tight. It wasn’t as if he could very well tell her he’d had his demon servant screw him on an order and that he’d been beset with regret. Even putting the words together sounded horrendously immoral.

            They parted a short while later, talking late into the afternoon until the call for dinner roused them from their seats. Ciel had eaten his meal mindlessly, trying to think only of the work he had yet to compile. Upon returning to his room, he set about the task tirelessly, writing and journaling until the first rays of early morning light crept through the parted curtains and shone across his paperwork.

            Yawning, he sent himself to bed, hardly stripping from the previous night’s clothing as he collapsed on the mattress. By the time he awoke it was past lunchtime and the household had been inquiring after him. He had a creeping suspicion that Sebastian had checked on him at some point and sent them away, but he couldn’t be sure.

            His aunt asked after his health during dinner, wondering if he was becoming ill. Ciel assured her that he was fine, although he had been noticing a bit of queasiness overtake him at odd hours of the day. He figured it was no more than a byproduct of excited nerves, likely induced by his vigilant avoidance of Sebastian and his obsessive dedication to the Rutherford case. It probably explained why he had been so fatigued as of late, too.

            He concluded the day still feeling half-asleep, and quickly surrendered to dreams when night had reclaimed the day. When he awoke once more, he felt refreshed and as clear-headed as ever. Content, he dressed himself quickly and headed down to breakfast, surprising everyone with his sudden punctuality.

            Before them was a growing spread of bacon, sausage, eggs, and toast. A pot of black pudding sat squarely in the center of the table accompanied by platters of warm brown beans and fried mushroom and tomato. Reinvigorated and starving, Ciel dug in as politely as he could muster, not even minding when Sebastian’s arm grazed him as he was pouring the tea (it was probably an accident, anyway).

            The morning only grew better when a maid came in bearing a tray of letters, dispersing them in soft tones to the family, as well as himself. The woman stilled beside him, debating whether she should speak. Curiosity tinged her tone. “There were an odd pair of gentlemen at the door for you,” she hedged. “Dressed all in white, isn’t that queer? Wouldn’t say who this letter was from.”

          Ciel nearly jumped at the words, heart beginning to hammer in his chest. “Would you delay them, ma’am?” he asked hurriedly. His fiancée paused, fork partway to her lips. “They’ll answer to ‘Charles’.”

            The maid nodded her ascent and quickly tottered off to intercept the two before they had gone. Excitedly, Ciel turned the envelope about in his hands. It was simple enough, certainly unimposing, the traditional royal seal completely missing from the ensemble. But sure enough, there was his name penned on the front in a familiar hand. After all this time, what could have inspired the Queen herself to write?

            Not bothering for a letter opener, Ciel worked the flap open, extracting the contents within and smoothing them out in his hands. Almost immediately a scrap of paper floated down into his lap and he reached for it instinctually, not really giving it much mind.

            He tore through the letter, scanning ahead through promising lines of how much he had been missed and how his position was coming up for renegotiation. Towards the bottom of the letter he began to furrow his brow, reading slower and growing stiff.

            _“We regret to inform you,”_ the paragraph began, “ _that violence was conducted against your Thames confectionary factory by manner of arson. We received correspondence of the event – which caused quite a stir – only last night, shortly after the incident. With much grief We must caution you that the damage to your property was absolute, and the destruction to your workers grievous. Many have been moved to St. Thomas’ in Lambeth, others, We must confess, to the local morgues._

_There is more to this incident, however. Providing the strangeness of the case, We thought it best to notify you posthaste. We have attached within a note found at the scene. It was found in a curious manner, sitting atop a pile of ashes yet completely unscathed by the flames. The constable in charge found it amid the rubble while surveying the site. Perhaps it means more to you than to Us. Do be careful, won’t you, Ciel?”_

The earl began to gnaw at his lip, unable to fight the rush of adrenaline coursing through him. It was an outrage that his company should be attacked and it was both bothersome and concerning that his employees had been implicated, but Ciel knew an opportunity when he saw one, and the situation could scarcely be better.

            Hands shaking, he exchanged the Queen’s letter for the one he’d narrowly dropped moments before. Upon closer inspection, the edges of the parchment were faintly yellowed, as if affected by heat. But, as the Queen had suggested, the paper was otherwise unmarred, indicating only that the perpetrator must have returned to the scene in order to place the note.

            Still, the single line made Ciel sit a little straighter in his seat, feeling the color drain from his features. Scrolled in neat and unmistakable calligraphy was the precise threat:

            _“To whom it may concern: you must destroy it immediately – before we take you with it.”_

Forcing himself to calm down, he considered the myriad possibilities. Could it be that someone had finally figured out Sebastian’s true demonic disposition? No, that would be jumping to conclusions. The ‘it’ referred to could be any number of things. Perhaps it was an item within his possession or a piece of technology in regards to his company? Maybe even information itself that could betray the secrets of fellow nobles or a prototype product in the works that could jeopardize that gross sales of a rival company? But no, that didn’t make sense either; he couldn’t fathom any of his competitors had the gumption to go so far as to threaten him so outright.

            He thought to the information he had pulled together upstairs. Both Rutherford brothers had seen him at the funeral of their father, and that Maeve woman had seemed to remember him clearly enough at the time. It wouldn’t be so unlikely for the trio to get suspicious of him, hoping to scare him into silence. Surely that must have something to do with it, he reasoned. Still, he would need conclusive proof.

            Excusing himself from the table he rose to leave, nearly disrupting his place setting. The Middleford family looked inquisitively after him, Lizzy folding up her cloth napkin and making to follow him. He shot her a quick look to dissuade her and headed for the doors to the hall. Pacing to the foyer he sighed in relief, the two men that made up the Double Charles team talking conversationally to one another beside the stairs.

            “Morning,” he greeted shortly, catching their attention. The more slender of the two – Grey, if he recalled – cast him a wry smile, shaking his head.

            “It’s been quite a while since we caught sight of you, Earl Phantomhive.”

            “A long while,” his companion added.

            “I could say the same of you two,” the earl returned, unable to keep from smiling as well. Despite his depressive bout, association with young men his age had done a wonder for his facial expressions, loosening his usual sour countenance to one more socially acceptable for various occasions. Smiling, thereby, had become a much more common occurrence for Ciel, even if it weirded out his staff to some extent.

            “And where is that oh-so-perfect butler of yours?” Grey pressed, a gleam of competitiveness lighting in his eyes.

            Ciel’s smile faltered as he searched for an answer. The return was cut blessedly short by Lizzy’s sudden appearance, her cross expression mellowing quickly into one of affability as she caught sight of her guests.

            “Please allow me long enough to write back,” Ciel interjected quickly, letting social convention dictate the next several minutes as his fiancée introduced herself and made pleasantries. Impatiently the earl waited on the parchment and fountain pen he’d requested from a passing servant, fiddling with his rings in the process.

            When the instruments finally arrived, he set upon them with gusto, spreading out the paper across the entryway table, crouching over the space to shield his writing. Hurriedly, he penned his letter back to the Queen, thanking her for her concerns and telling her – in brief – about how he had been the last several years, being sure to list his accomplishments.

            Thanking her for the warning about the Thames factory, he assured her that he would put himself on the case immediately, indicating that the threat may be more global than it originally seemed. Not knowing if his hunch was correct, he indicated that he had made personal headway on the Rutherford case and that he looked forward to expediting justice in terms of the suspected murder. Concluding that the two incidents might be related, he pressed his assurances that he would prove his worth to her once more.

           Letting a waiting attendant assist him with the sealing, he passed the finished letter off to the taller Charles, watching as the man slipped it within the folds of his suit. “Do let me know of any advancements, will you?” he asked pointedly, knowing full well that the Double Charles team would already be well-versed in the goings on.

            “Of course.”

            “We know where to find you know,” Grey smirked. Ciel got the distinct impression that they had been traversing the English countryside looking for him. It was lucky they were so expedient, and he had to wonder if perhaps they weren’t human, either.

            He bid them farewell, feeling in significantly lighter spirits than he had in months. Finally, the honor of himself and of his family name were well within reach again. An old fire burned in his breast. He wished ardently to be restored to his title, to partake in the thrill of the hunt again. He drummed a hand against the entryway table, smile plastered to his lips.

            “They were Private Secretarial Officers,” Lizzy announced quietly. “I’ve seen them beside the Queen in the papers.”

            “So they are,” Ciel acknowledged.

            “Does that mean you’re working for Her again?”

            “With luck, yes.”

            “What is it they want with you?”

            Ciel chuckled to himself: he could already see the bustling streets of London, the clamor of unwitting people going about the city he used to keep safe. He could barely wait to board his carriage and depart. Pulling out the familiar phrase he turned to his fiancée, “Private business, my dear.”

**Xxxxxxxxxx**

            The avenue surrounding The Regent’s Park was lined with the town estates of the elite and the townhomes of the well-to-do – all seemed to be of similar shades of cream and white, as if not to draw attention away from the sprawling green that they faced. Towards the northwest corner of the park – a quick carriage ride from the University’s campus – was the town house of Miss Sieglinde Sullivan, one uncouth genius witch, and best friend of Ciel Phantomhive.

            The two had remained in close contact since their meeting in Germany years earlier, much to the disdain of Elizabeth’s family. Since Ciel had graduated, Sieglinde was a frequent caller at the estate, and her insistence to speak with Ciel alone had caused more than a little contention between the earl and his aunt. It was Lizzy, in fact, who had smoothed the ordeal over with insistence to her parents that their meetings were private due to their involvement with the Queen. And, though very different, the two women got on fairly well whenever they saw one another. Their similar lack of boundaries – Lizzy’s physical and Sieglinde’s social – were enough to balance one another out, and it was not uncommon for Elizabeth to place a call to Sieglinde on occasion, or vice versa.

            Ciel thought of his cousin as the carriage rolled up to the curb beside Number Seven – she had been attempting with everything she had to smother the despondent look in her eyes as her cousin had announced plans to return to his town estate. However, she had assented with a sweet smile and the insistence that her cousin write to her during his time away. He planned on imploring Sieglinde to pay a visit to Elizabeth within the coming weeks as reparation. It was the least he could do, considering how good his cousin had been to him over the previous several years.

            The carriage door opened and Ciel climbed out, steadying himself with his cane as a wave of vertigo overtook him. He’d been struggling with nausea ever since the train had departed from the countryside, and had made frequent mention of it throughout the journey. As such, Sebastian was by his side in a flash, pressing a handkerchief to his master’s lips as Ciel struggled not to wretch. After several choking coughs, the earl batted away his butler with an errant hand and straightened the lapels of his coat.

            Ciel’s decision to leave the Middleford manner and return to more familiar scenery had left the butler in considerably higher spirits. As such, over the course of the several days that they planned their return journey, his fleeting touches had returned with a vengeance, nearly becoming outright caresses in more private moments. This complete flip typically would be unsettling, but Ciel had thrown himself headlong into the case of the factory fire so thoroughly that he hadn’t the time to care and had subsequently written it off. They were adults and –despite their twin bullheadedness – the butler appeared to have taken the higher road and allowed their usual amicability to return.

            “Are you sure you’re well enough to pay Miss Sullivan a visit, my lord?” Sebastian quipped, raising a brow. “Your estate is a quick cut though The Regent and I think you’d appreciate having a bed to lie in.”

            Ciel scowled at Sebastian’s doting, though he took a moment to weigh the option in his mind – between the hyper puppy that his estate’s governor was and the pushy-yet-affectionate Sieglinde, the latter was the much better option for the time being.

            “I’ll take my chances with Miss Sullivan,” Ciel decided, crossing the lawn to the townhome’s front door. “Besides, it would be rude to keep her waiting.”

            The two climbed up the stairs to the deep green front door and the moment Sebastian’s fist connected with the wood, the insides of the house erupted into shrill barking. Ciel smirked as he saw a look of absolute abhorrence cross his butler’s face. The door swung open and a cream-colored puff launched itself out, snuffling at Ciel’s knees and pouting to be picked up.

            “Nicky!” hissed Sieglinde’s maid, falling to her knees to scoop up the wayward German Spitz and bop him on the nose. “ _No_ ,” she turned her silvery eyes onto Ciel and Sebastian, an apologetic look tinting her typically stern face. “I’m very sorry about that.”

            “It’s no trouble whatsoever,” Ciel smiled, all but feeling Sebastian’s face curdling beside him. “How are you today, Iris?”

            “As well as ever,” the maid responded, her expression becoming withdrawn. “And you, Lord Phantomhive?”

            “I must report I am feeling a bit unwell,” he reported. “I assure you’ve gotten word of the incident?”

            “Yes, it is quite unfortunate,” Iris said, setting down Nicky in order to take Ciel’s cane and coat and arrange them on a hanger beside the door. Sebastian removed his coat as well, hanging it beside Ciel’s. “The lady is most upset by the tidings.”

            Iris led the earl to the drawing room with a request for Sebastian to help prepare tea. Ciel assented her notion with a nod and sent the unusually quiet butler on his way, stooping to pick up Nicky before entering the drawing room.

            Sieglinde was sprawled out over the floor, belly-down on a pile of ornate cushions and blankets. A pile of books – some stacked, some open – rested around her along with a paper displaying the news of the fire. Dressed in nothing but a loose green girl’s dress and black stockings with her long hair flowing around her, Sieglinde looked much more like a curious child who had escaped mid-toilette than an intellectual powerhouse who retained every one of Great Britain’s military advancements.

            Without looking up, she reached into a box of marzipan fruits at her side and held one out to Ciel, who took it without question with the hand that was not cradling Nicky to his chest. Sieglinde brought a tiny marzipan strawberry to her lips, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully.

            She consumed the candy in silence while Ciel took to one of the couches and Nicky settled beside him up against a pillow. Over the years, Ciel had learned to be patient when Sieglinde was in the depths of her studies, lest he desired a barrage of throw pillows to the face. At long last Sieglinde closed her book and rolled onto her side, reaching out towards Ciel.

            “Well?” she said expectantly. “Let me see it.”

            The earl chuckled and removed the envelope from his pocket, passing off the note to Sieglinde. This had been the reason for their visit: following the Queen’s letter he’d received a message from the witch that indicated that she was clued in to some sort of preternatural underhandedness surrounding the circumstances of the fire. With Sieglinde delving into the world of witches and demons, she was clearly the best candidate for answering questions considering the supernatural now that Undertaker had gone off.

            Sieglinde shuffled with the envelope and slipped out the note, fingertips tracing the words, mouth moving silently. Her brow furrowed.

            “What is ‘it’?” she asked.

            “Now that you’ve let me know of the supernatural involvement, I suppose they’re referring to Sebastian,” Ciel mused. “Someone’s found out I’m contracted with a demon and they find that it’s an unfair business advantage—.”

            “ _Nein_ ,” Sieglinde shook her head. “You don’t think it’s been common knowledge that you’re contracted to a demon?” she fixed Ciel with an exasperated look. The earl was taken aback, but said nothing. Sieglinde snorted.

            “No? You don’t give my people enough credit,” she rolled back onto her tummy, picking up another candy as Ciel reached out to stroke Nicky.

            “If that were truly common knowledge I’d imagine less people would give me hell,” he retorted. Sieglinde stared up at him from between cascades of black hair, her mouth slanted in disappointment.

            “It’s because of it that most supernaturals have stayed away from you these past years. You didn’t really think that reapers and demons were the only things out there?” she picked up a book and turned to a marked page. “And you’ve never considered it odd that you’ve never seen or heard of another demon?”

            Ciel shrugged, “I supposed Sebastian kept them away.”

            “You supposed correct, _mein freund_ ,” the witch confirmed. “But that’s only worked for so long.”

            “You think this is from another supernatural?” Ciel asked, gesturing towards the letter.

            “I’m almost completely certain, _ja_.” she responded, taking the book she had opened and propping it up on Nicky’s side for Ciel to see. The dog made a little noise and began to lap at his mistress’ fingers as she allowed Ciel to peruse the page.

            **_Incubi & Succubae_** was the heading, each page detailed with an illumination of the monster. The incubus was a horned creature with bat wings, and stood with spread arms at the bedside of a scantily-clad woman in the throes of an erotic dream. The other illustration was that of a pale-skinned woman entwined with a snake, her head tilted to the side in submission to the creature.

            “A sex demon?” the earl smirked, an eyebrow quirking as he recognized the picture of the succubus Lilith from the Bible. “One of those things adulteresses blame pregnancies on? Why are you showing me this?”

            Sieglinde wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “A misconception brought upon by the church. _Nein_ ,” she took up the tome from his lap, reading from the text: “‘ _While incubi and succubae are widely known in human circles as sex demons who use humans for breeding purposes, in supernatural circles they are regarded as the strongest corporeal demons besides Hell royalty. They are most likely the demons who donated their genetics to earth-dwelling deities to create the common anima demons that dwell in the human realm. As such, the incubi and their female counterparts act as ambassadors between Hell and the human world, primarily taking it upon themselves to prevent the creation of any such new species in their ranks_.’”

            “Then it sounds like they do the exact opposite of impregnating humans,” Ciel quipped. “Again, why are you showing me this?”

            Sieglinde shrugged as if the answer were obvious. “I’d like you to know who you’re up against.”

            “Up against?” the earl repeated skeptically. “So you’re suggesting that the person who burned down my factory was an _incubus_?”

            “Succubus. I have it on good authority that you and Sebastian have caught the interest of a fairly prolific one, although I do not have a name quite yet,” Sieglinde corrected. Ciel produced an incredulous laugh, shutting the book.

            “And why would they go after me? What have I done to taint their bloodlines?” the earl inquired, setting the tome aside. Sieglinde chewed her lip.

            “Well, I was almost convinced that your initial guess was correct — that they were upset about your contract with Sebastian. But after reading this letter, I am not so sure,” she stopped to show him the letter, tapping the word ‘it’. “There is no reason for them to refer to Sebastian in this way, especially if he’s of a higher ranking than them.”

            “Wait,” Ciel held up a hand. “Higher ranking? And what’s to suggest that?”

            “Only more rumors, unfortunately,” Sieglinde admitted. “Interest in you was piqued not so long ago, according to my sources, when this succubus supposedly recognized Sebastian.” The witch slouched back down into her pile. “I’m starting to think, however, that this letter was not meant for you, Ciel. Rather, it was for Sebastian.”

            Confusion gave way to a low, burning red in Ciel’s gut as realization blossomed into anger. “Then the ‘it’ in the letter refers to me?”

            “It only makes sense,” Sieglinde responded a bit casually for the implications. “They were waiting and watching you for a while and now they’ve chosen to strike.”

            “Why upset a stronger demon and – why the factory, though?” Ciel shook his head, “It doesn’t make sense.”

            “ _Symbologie_.”

            Ciel didn’t need a dictionary to translate that. “A symbol? The factory was supposed to represent me?” he sniffed. “I don’t see why they’d think Sebastian would care if I were to die at this point. If a succubus roasts me alive then he’ll have his meal prepared for him—.”

            The earl froze mid-sentence as a little hand encircled his ankle. Sieglinde’s other hand smoothed up his calf and she rested her forehead upon his knee.

            “ _Bitte_ ,” she whispered. “Please don’t talk about those sorts of things.”

            Such a reaction was a stark contrast from when Sieglinde had first discovered the covenant between master and butler and the witch had flippantly declared: “ _Ach,_ it’s none of my business.” It was a testament to how much the witch had grown in character and the strength of her bond with Ciel.

            Ciel felt his heart soften for a moment before growing stony in resolution. Sieglinde was just yet another means to an end, no matter what – just as everyone else surrounding him was. It would always have to be that way if Ciel were to achieve proper revenge. He pet her head awkwardly before pulling her off of his leg. The witch climbed up on the couch beside Ciel, pulling Nicky into her lap – her head was still tilted down, eyes scrunched with concern. Ciel, not knowing what else to say, turned his attention back to the letter.

            He had to admit it had been a bit rash of him to assume the letter was meant for him considering the vague way it had been addressed: “To whom it may concern”. Ciel had trouble thinking objectively when matters concerning him were on the table, so it had been all too easy to make assumptions. Having Sieglinde around as a second pair of eyes was proving to be a massive advantage.

            But, as her words settled in his head, the anger over her earlier suggestion simmered down and gave way to a keening interest in her other assertions: namely those considering Sebastian. With a sudden jolt, he realized the implications. Sieglinde had asserted that Sebastian was of a higher ranking than the succubus in question, but according to the tome—

            Ciel stood from the couch and picked up the earlier volume, which was still opened to the page that Sieglinde had him read from just moments before: “ _In supernatural circles they are regarded as the strongest corporeal demons,”_ it read. “ _Besides Hell royalty.”_


	5. Geranium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this week's chapter was a little delayed -- Chess and I were moving out of our dorm, so I didn't have time to get it up until we were home. This chapter is a little short (4k as compared to the usual 6k), but next week's is a little long (8k), so I suppose that makes up for it! Also there's more Sieglinde in this chapter, which is great. There's a little foreshadowing via the tea ingredients, so maybe those familiar with herbs and their uses can tell what's up a little ahead of time! Also, there's some German in this chapter! Chess took two years of intensive German, so we're fairly certain what we have is accurate, but if we messed up anywhere, please let us know!

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Five**

**Geranium**

_“Blessed is the influence of one true, loving human soul on another.”_

– George Eliot

The kitchen of the Sullivan household was bright and massive, uniquely occupied not only by a stove of more modern convenience but by a traditional hearth as well. A massive cast-iron cauldron emblazoned with the triple moon bubbled happily in the fire’s mouth – a sweet potion brewed within, strong enough to fill the house with its positive intent, but gentle enough not to irritate the sensitive nose of the demon. Before his visits, Iris was always kind enough to banish the sage and lilac that typically kept lesser demons away but proved to be strong allergens to beings of Sebastian’s caliber. Today the house was filled with lemongrass and lavender, the invigorating and relaxing scents twisting through the air to create a calm but stimulating mood.

            Iris had already put the kettle on and was extracting a large case full of herbs to prepare the day’s tea. Sebastian had always been fond of the witch; although it was unsettling to have someone see right through him, it was oddly refreshing at the same time to know someone who he didn’t have to put up airs around, much like with Undertaker or Agni. In fact, the latter had become good friends with both Iris and Sebastian, bonding with them over their shared domestic experiences and handling their uncouth charges. Besides, he much preferred the foxlike witch to the deceased Wolfram, who’d always had a nasty look for Sebastian (although his spirit seemed to live on in the little lapdog his charge had adopted — Sebastian swore the ratty canine gave him the exact same loathing expression).

            Iris had been appointed as Sieglinde’s handmaiden once the younger witch had assented to working under the Crown. Although she was a noblewoman and technically of much higher ranking than Sieglinde, Iris had graciously accepted the position, having already served as the handmaid to the Queen’s granddaughter, then-Duchess Irene. The match seemed to have been intentional, as Iris was a long-practicing witch and had acted as Sieglinde’s door to the supernatural world. Sebastian bet that this was due in part to the Queen, who wanted the added advantage of a supernatural expert as well as a weapons expert in Sieglinde.

            And while being just as obsessively faithful and protective of Lady Sullivan as Wolfram had been, Iris was far more excelled in the area of household skills and seemed far less wary of Sebastian, placing all of her trust in Lady Sullivan’s judgement of his character from the moment that the maid had been introduced to him. That, and Iris had a dry sense of humor that absolutely tickled Sebastian and an intense love of herbal tea that mirrored his own.

            “What do you think would go well with this?” the ivory haired woman asked, gesturing towards the Manchester tarts she’d prepared earlier. Sebastian briefly scoured his memories for the appropriate pairings before approaching her little box of herbs.

            “Red raspberry leaves should complement the jam,” he said, setting the appropriate herb aside. “Fennel and nettles should keep it from becoming too sweet, but the addition of anise will help to temper that. What do you think?”

            He turned to Iris who was nodding in approval. “Well I think it’s _perfect_ for what you have in mind,” she returned. Sebastian seized internally at the accusatory notes lacing her tone. She met his stare with one of her own deadpan expressions. “What’s going on?”

            Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek. The dreadful consequence of having friends was that they sometimes knew you better than yourself and were particularly good on calling you out on your bullocks – candy red eyes and swathes of garnet cloth played over Sebastian’s mind; a memory of the last friend who had been brave enough to call him out. Although his expression remained impeccably perplexed, Sebastian withered guiltily under Iris’ unwavering stare. He should have been more careful than to have tried to pull the wool over the eyes of a _witch_ of all people, who would know precisely what he was really up to. Although he loathed admitting it, there were more than a few hiccups in his façade as of late which he chalked up exclusively to nerves. He was hopeful that Ciel was less attentive to the little changes in his demeanor than Iris.

            The witch sighed and began to extract another set of herbs for their own personal pot of tea, pressing Sebastian down into the chair from which the hearth was to be tended. The tea kettle began to wail and moments later, Iris placed a cup into Sebastian’s hands, pressing her side up against the warm wall beside the fireplace. She said nothing, but there was a steely resolution in her eyes that said she was expecting him to talk. Sebastian looked down into the surface of the tea pensively, locking eyes with the human-skinned creature within as his thoughts tumbled around in his mind.

            The last several weeks had been a struggle, to say the very least. He had kept to himself much more than usual, willing himself to fade away into the background of daily life, to become a muted color at the edges of his master's focus. The bitterness, too, had finally ebbed away, leaving in its place a horrid taint of guilt and disgust. And he felt, for the first time in a very long time, weak.

            He had to, of course, stick to his aesthetics when the order had been issued. There had never been a question about that, nor doubts of his own loyalty. Despite his theatrics, his snarling show of fangs – the frustration and the hunger clawing at the base of his gut, the stagnant boredom that stretched thin over the years – there was none of that. It was the sick, twisting need that had sprung up from those words. It wasn't quite carnal, but it wasn't solely emotional, either. It was the sinking, hollow realization that something, somewhere deep inside, was empty and missing.

            Again, those shades of garnet that so often coupled the image of a lover long gone flashed over his mind’s eye. This time they were accompanied by the scent of damp earth and the sensation of his fingertips sliding through silky white tresses. Sebastian willed away the thoughts.

            The startling truth was that he himself was no more than an observer within the human world he now found himself – that he only had the right to watch from behind a glass, sealed away. Untouchable and isolated. And the desperation to break those walls disgusted him. It was weak. To desire. To wish for things that would, ultimately, only inwardly kill him in the end.

            Sebastian wasn't sure when it had happened. When he had bared the most private part of himself to this mortal world; had freely dispensed access into his personal being. To allow… to allow others into his own heart. It was more than fool. They would come and go in mere instants to him, leaving nothing but painful memories and invisible scars. It was no different with his master. He couldn't place when obligation had morphed into respect and faithful duty, which in turn melded into appreciation and…

            Ciel Phantomhive was a sickly youth who had sealed his own fate. By Sebastian's own hands, no less. He would die and there was no avoiding it. It was an ever-present, morbid fact that demon and earl alike openly acknowledged. Manipulated. Everything between them was a matter of business and convenience. Direct. Methodical. Sterile and straightforward.

            So why… why was it that above all else, it was that person's acknowledgement that he craved? Almost more than anything… why was it that when all was said and done, the one person whose acceptance – whose adoration, should he be so bold – he wanted above all else was his own master's. A human's. Something inside him clenched just thinking about it, and every time it did, it felt colder as the glass between their worlds grew sharper and more apparent. He had no business at all wishing for the things he could not have. Yet when that order was issued? All of the tiny cracks in his resolve, all of the little fissures that had wormed their way into his – he daren't say it, heart – had magnified and spread agape, clawing up desperately to clutch at any inkling of affection found within those scant words. He had let down his barriers. And it had betrayed him.

            And in this manner, things had gone by much too agonizingly slow. He had allowed desires and hopes to thrive, only for them to expire and fester just as he knew that they would. And it made that hollow space within him ache all the more. Sebastian had tried in earnest to busy himself. The Middleford Manor had never been as productive as it had in the several weeks that had followed what he ominously dubbed 'That Day'. He reckoned that he could temporarily open a bakery with the amount of food he had wastefully produced. Hell, he could run half of Funtom's food stores on his will and inward letdowns alone. It wasn't so much self-pitying, he decided, as it was self-disappointment. And no matter how hard he busied himself in his tasks and constant siege on the kitchen, he couldn't quite keep his thoughts from crashing around endlessly in his head.

            Yet at the same while time had been much too fleeting. It was an awkward combination of feelings, and somehow the days – which were usually so scheduled and decisive – had blurred into one large messy span of existence. It didn't take Sebastian long to realize that there was an air of change about the manor. A sudden pervasive sweetness that was overpowering yet pleasant all at the same time. For days, he went about in a confused but accepting state – the new scent was refreshing, if not curious. It lingered here and there: sometimes along the library shelves, mingled with the linens, the pressed shirts, and even across the backs of the couches. It was likely that Edward’s wife was expecting again, and the normalcy of those implications pleased Sebastian.

            Until the implications became all too clear in one crashing, blinding moment.

            And that was when the guilt had kicked in. Because he had known – oh, he had known – precisely what foul he had committed 'That Day'. Sinking his cock into that yielding, pliant body. Because he knew that his master would have no idea the ways in which he had submitted to the demon's natural urges and needs: the need to breed an heir, to assure him his progeny. And Sebastian, true to form, had greedily and readily accepted the willing body before him.

            And then there was all this in the face of his relationship with Undertaker. He wasn’t entirely certain how _that_ whole affair had come to fruition either. The two had been admittedly amiable in the time preceding the Campania incident. For one, he was the only affable supernatural in the vicinity that Sebastian was aware of outside of the usual set of ghouls that liked to skulk around London looking for scraps or the bored fae that lingered around the social scene – both parties weren’t worth his attention. But Undertaker, being a reaper, was a prime candidate for amusement – being a fairly strong creature that typically so ardently abhorred demons made for just the right amount of danger and he was eccentric and comical, besides… not to mention that he was quite handsome behind that stupid fringe of white hair.

            An amicable acquaintanceship had become an odd friendship, leading to casual sex and something… else. Sebastian was uncertain whether to call it a relationship or not, rarely indulging the reaper with complex emotions, but he certainly had felt more at ease with him than anyone else until he became closer to Agni and eventually Iris.

            And despite the twisted way he expressed it, Undertaker sincerely wanted Ciel to be at peace, even if that meant his death. But the mortician was forever holding on to effigies of the others whom he had failed – the skeleton attached to his scythe, the hair jewelry that had once hung at his hip – and wanted Ciel to become the same in the form of a Bizarre Doll. Sebastian couldn’t fathom what the news of Ciel’s pregnancy would inspire Undertaker to do – in fact, he couldn’t imagine what he himself was going do to in the wake of the discovery.

            After a silent eternity, he looked up and met Iris’ silvery eyes.

            “Well?” she pressed, tone stern but voice soft.

            “You’re clever enough to figure out what I did,” the demon admitted into his tea at long last. He braced himself for her barrage of scolding, but none ever came. Iris was as impassive as she ever was, staring over Sebastian’s shoulder into the little herb garden that she and her ward kept behind the townhouse.

            “You know,” she began conversationally. “It might be a bit prudent to mention this to him, seeing as it’s most likely the reason his factory was burned down by that succubus.” She scowled, “And don’t you dare tell me this is on a need-to-know basis.”

           Sebastian stared at her sharply, the mention of the succubus pricking his curiosity. “Succubus?” he repeated, setting the cup down on the nearby countertop.

            “The Lady should be discussing it with Lord Phantomhive as we speak,” Iris explained, taking a sip from her own tea. “Sister Rabbit – Nina Hopkins,” she corrected for Sebastian’s sake. “Informed us that a customer of hers heard through a chain of gossip that a succubus has recognized the butler of a nobleman as a very notorious and powerful demon.”

            Sebastian’s eyes narrowed as he stood, towering over the maid. He pressed his hand to the warm bricks beside her head and the witch’s eyes narrowed as she took a step back. “You have no reason to threaten me, Sebastian,” she said, looking perturbed. “There was not a single name dropped in the entirety of the conversation. If there was, the Lady did not relay it.” Her eyes burned, “And even if she does know, she has more tact than you realize. And finally,” her hand sought the pocket of her apron where a selenite wand sparked threateningly, “I won’t allow harm to come to her.”

            Sebastian laughed at the thought of a mere witch attempting to stop him; he’d have Lady Sullivan smeared over the threshold before Iris could blink if he so desired. And besides, if word about his true identity had gotten out, then it was already too late. It would probably be nothing more than a mild shock to Ciel, and the most it could cause Sebastian was social damage back home, but it would be more than easy to clean that up once the conditions of his contract were met.

            He removed his hand from the wall and took a step back. Iris released the raw selenite in her pocket and took up her tea cup with both hands once more as Sebastian settled back down into the hearthside chair. Succubus… now that was a word he hadn’t heard in a while. Alongside the implied notion that Iris and Sieglinde had – at the very least – figured out that he was much more than a common demon, it brought back images of his former life. The grandiosity, the politics, every day steeped in under-the-table negotiations and depravity. It had been a very long time since he’d been seated in a plush throne with forty legions of warriors at his disposal. The thought of bringing Ciel into his own affairs could once have proved amusing, but now, with what was at stake—

            Cool fury filled Sebastian’s mind, momentarily tinging his sight red as he fought down the instinctive urge to tear apart London until he found the antagonizing bitch and make an example out of her. It would be nice to make a public show of her: show others that yes, he was who they thought he was and that despite being contracted under a human, he was still completely capable of securing his progeny and absolutely obliterating all those who dared to oppose him – especially a lowly slut succubus.

            But, it was her race that made things such a problem. Succubae were, after all, ambassadors between Earth and Hell and killing her was bound to upset people both upstairs and downstairs. It would be a foolish action to take, what with his estate and assets left inaccessible to him. No, it was much better to handle this using old-fashioned politics before any blood was spilled. Just his luck to have landed himself in a bureaucratic debacle when he’d originally taken leave from Hell to have a break from them in the first place.

            Sebastian was thrown from his thoughts by the sound of Sieglinde calling out from the parlor. “Iris? _Was ist einnehmen so lange_?”

            “ _Ich komme, meine fräulein_!” Iris responded immediately, taking up the tea kettle and transferring its contents to a green and gold Staffordshire teapot. Sebastian filled the cream and sugar containers for her while she worked and then scooped up the tray bearing the Manchester tarts. The two entered the parlor moments later, Iris tutting at the mess and Sebastian glaring down Nicky, who contorted his little doggy face into a look of absolute loathing.

            ‘ _I could swear you’re his reincarnation_ ,’ Sebastian thought disdainfully, placing the tray of sweets down onto the coffee table beside the tea set.

            “An herbal blend of red raspberry leaves, fennel, and nettles with star anise,” Iris explained as she poured out the tea. “Would either of you care for cream or sugar?”

            “You know how I like mine, Iris.” Sieglinde said flippantly, her nose currently buried in her handwritten Book of Shadows. “Ciel?”

            “I’ll have mine with cream and two lumps of sugar,” Ciel responded. His single visible eye was pinned to Sebastian as he spoke; something in their conversation must have made the butler’s presence known to the Earl once again. He did not look angry or accusatory, though – more curious if anything else.

            Well, that was all good with Sebastian as long as Ciel wasn’t upset with him any longer – but it begged the question if Ciel had managed to divine more about Sebastian via the information Sieglinde had granted him.

            “Have you made any headway into the investigation?” Sebastian inquired, passing a tart off to Ciel.

            “Miss Sullivan is convinced that the factory fire is the fault of a succubus,” Ciel provided, accepting the plate.

            “Although we don’t yet have sufficient evidence to back this up,” Sieglinde concluded for him. “I hardly doubt its coincidence.”

            “Miss Sullivan recently received a tip that you were recognized by a succubus and that this has caused some upset towards my estate,” Ciel’s stare did the rest of the talking: ‘ _Because you were hiding things from me_.’

            “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you Herr Sebastian?” Sieglinde posed the question sweetly and Sebastian met her poisonous smile with one of his own. Three pairs of eyes were upon him, the owners of which knew the exact answer to the question and he wasn’t going anywhere until they were appeased.

            “I can neither confirm nor deny your suspicions, because I simply do not know who was behind the arson,” Sebastian said smoothly. “Rest assured that I would provide answers if I was indeed aware.”

            “That’s not what we were asking,” Ciel countered with a little ice circling his tone, raising his teacup to his lips. “Would your position – no, your contract with me be enough to cause this succubus to lash out in such a way?”

            Sebastian was relieved for the phrasing, but he didn’t miss Iris’ knowing glance askance towards him. Thanks to his earlier slip-up, she knew _exactly_ why the factory was burned down and it had nothing to do with the contract. Due to their superior knowledge of the situation, the succubus was completely guilty as far as Iris and Sebastian were concerned.

            However, that was not what Ciel had asked. Sebastian could only hope Iris wouldn’t rat him out and he deeply regretting not putting the fear of the Goddess in her before coming out to be interrogated.

            “I could not say for certain,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “If a succubus was the one at fault for the factory fire.” _Technically_ he wasn’t lying; it could very well have been someone else cross with the fact that he’d managed to impregnate a human or a political competitor upset that he was going ahead and securing his genetic legacy. “But yes, I do believe that would be reason enough for a succubus to make hostile actions towards your estate.”

            “Given?” Ciel urged him on purposefully. Sebastian had to struggle to quell his incredibly strong urge to glare – he felt like a petulant child having a predetermined guilty confession extracted by exasperated adults.

            “Given,” Sebastian conceded quietly. “The fact that demons such as myself do not typically forge covenants with humans.”

            “ _Ach_!” Sieglinde cried out, throwing her arms into the air and startling everyone. “We _know_ you’re Hell royalty, so why not just say?!”

            Sebastian minded her with a look out of the corner of his eye. He wanted to keep his affairs as separate from the current situation as possible, and it was already difficult enough without the constant goading, “You seem rather confident in that assertion.”

            Sieglinde snatched up a throw pillow and hurled it across the room at Sebastian’s face, much to Iris’ chagrin. Sebastian leaned out of the way, dodging it gracefully.

            “Manners, my lady!” Iris huffed, gathering up the pillow and returning it to Sieglinde’s side. The little witch ignored the suggestion, choosing to slump into her seat and fix Sebastian with a sour expression.

            “Regardless of Sebastian’s associations,” Ciel began, looking a little disappointed. “I have all the information I need. Thank you for your help, Sieglinde.”

            “ _Ach, nein_! Don’t you dare!” the Green Witch pointed at Ciel in an accusatory fashion. “You’re not leaving my sight until we have this entire debacle figured out: it’s far too dangerous.” Her finger fell upon Sebastian, “That goes double for you!”

            “Should I prepare the guest rooms?” Iris asked immediately, much to both Sebastian and Ciel’s annoyance.

            “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Fräulein,” Ciel said to his friend, tone clearly agitated as he invoked the polite title he only used when he was growing cross with her. “Sebastian—.”

            “Has put you in danger, _ja_?” Sieglinde rounded on her friend, causing the dog in her arms to yap in agreement. Sebastian couldn’t hold back the glare this time; Iris subtly pressed her booted heel into the toe of his oxfords as a result.

            “Sebastian is more than competent,” Ciel finished, folding his arms over his chest in a defensive gesture. “I live right across the park, besides. If anything happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

            “Which will be easy, because I will be with you whether you are here or there!” Sieglinde insisted, releasing Nicky. The Spitz leapt off of the couch and began to parade around the parlor, yipping and howling in agreement with his mistress’ upset tone.

            “ _Nein! Dies geht dich einen Scheißdreck an!”_ Ciel snapped. Sebastian balked at the swear word, but Sieglidne was faster to respond.

            “ _Du bist ein verdammter Wichser,_ Ciel Phantomhive!” she countered, shoving him in the shoulder. “I am your _freund und ich_ will do whatever I can to protect you, _scheißkerl!”_

Truly, Sebastian and Iris had raised such shining examples of individuals of high society.

            “Meine Fräulein!” Iris shouted aghast, as Nicky’s yapping grew louder.

            Ciel looked ready to start throwing pillows himself as he met Sieglinde’s stubborn glare with one of his own. Sieglinde only looked away to snap her fingers and point at Nicky: “ _Shht_!” she hissed, instantly silencing the dog. She returned to her glare-off instantly.

            Sebastian watched, patient as Sieglinde’s frustration melted into a look of sincerity and she reached out to touch her best friend’s shoulder, “ _Bitte_? Ciel, I just want to help keep you safe.”

             Ciel withered under her imploring gaze and buried his face in his hands, “Fine. _Ja._ You can come. Just _please_ don’t make any trouble for me – I know how you and Souma get when you’re together.”

            Sieglinde sat back on her couch triumphantly, turning to Iris with a smug expression, “Iris, pack my things please. Until further notice, we’re relocating to the Phantomhive Townhome.”

            “Sebastian,” said Ciel, still crushed under the weight of Sieglinde’s victory, “Go ahead to the manor and prepare two extra guestrooms for Miss Sullivan and Miss Grey.”

            Pleased that the argument had taken attention off of himself, Sebastian smiled and dipped into a bow. Beside him, Iris fanned out her skirts into a curtsey.

            “Yes, my lord.”

            “ _Ja, meine Fräulein_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you've probably noticed by now (since it was mentioned earlier in the story), we killed off Wolfram at the train station in Germany -- this is because while we were doing the final 'reworking' of the story, the newest chapter was the one where Wolfram was shot. So we just went along with the fact that he'd died there and created Iris. But lo and behold, Wolfram lived! But this was after we'd written quite a few parts with Iris (whoops!) and given her role in the story, we couldn't figure out how to write Wolfram back in (whoops again!), so Iris got to stay.


	6. Philadelphus Coronarius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! There's an early update this week because we'll be busy/out of town during the next two weeks. As such, chapter seven will be posted Monday the 30th, so keep an eye out for that! After that we'll be back on our normal schedule starting June 9th. Thank you for all your lovely comments and the kudos you guys!

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Six**

**Philadelphus Coronarius**

_“I heed not and have never heeded either experience, cautions, majorities, nor ridicule, And the threat of what is call'd hell is little or nothing to me,”_

– Walt Whitman

            Maeve Fitzpatrick stood atop the Macclesfield Bridge, leaning on her forearms against the railing and pretending to watch the boats pass by along the canal below. The stroll through the park had been a pleasant one, more of a means to pass the time than anything. October had breathed new color into the Regent’s, the trees catching alight with honey gold and pumpkin orange hues. Leaf litter lay in clumps about the park, settling in mounds along the occasional wooden bench, clogging up the roads with fiery refuse.

            Maeve in turn had emulated the autumnal scene, knowing it would serve her well to remain anonymous to passersby. Dressed in a smart bustled walking dress of crimson taffeta, she kept her distance from the bordering estates, face pointed keenly opposite their impressive façades. Occupying her fidgeting hands in the warmth of a brown mink muff, she kept her anxious thoughts at bay.

            Having left the destruction of the Funtom Company’s properties to Cosette, the blonde had been given ample time to hang about the countryside, waiting attentively for every move of the Phantomhive boy and his powerful butler. She hadn’t to delay long, correspondence reaching her quickly that the pair had set off with intents on going to London.

            She was grateful that she’d chosen to pay off a pair of the Middleford maids.

            Rousing herself from the divan in her inadequate apartment – a rental estate that had suited her needs but had been less than her standards dictated – she made to leave, tossing her effects into a steamer trunk and calling upon her cabby. Hobb pulled around to the front, his usual disgruntled expression clear on his wrinkled face.

            Cracking the whip, he spurred the horses on to supernatural speeds, hastening them to the nearest train depot. Maeve stepped out of the carriage without his assistance, scanning the crowded if moderate station until she set eyes upon the earl and his servant. Filled with satisfaction, she watched as the demon purchased their tickets from the counter, waiting until the pair dispersed into the crowd.

            Leaving Hobb to handle her belongings, she made for the same counter, smiling sweetly at the jacketed attendant. “Might I inquire as to what line that gentleman bought tickets for?”

            “Ma’am?” the man asked politely.

            “I believe he dropped something and I’d very much like to return it to him.”

            “Ah, well that would be the 36, ma’am.”

            Maeve thanked the attendant kindly, scoffing to herself as she made for the correct platform. Humans were so gullible and quick to believe in the good intentions of others. It was a wonder they had made it as a race at all, especially with her lot and the assemblage of Hell dogging their every step.

            Slipping a ticket from the unsuspecting pocket of a nobleman waiting along the line, she approached the steam engine, boarding the hissing vehicle and slipping amongst the passengers. It didn’t take her long to work up to first class, maneuvering through the warm bodies and frazzled waitstaff until she had reached the impressive oak and glass door. Silently entering the compartment, she sat herself towards the back, dipping her hat down to obscure her face. It was a small but fashionable accessory, more feather and gauze veil than actual hat, but it did well enough to conceal her piled golden hair.

            Across the aisle and to the front of the compartment the Earl of Phantomhive was taking his seat, sliding along the bench and propping his elbows up on the wooden table. He exchanged a few curt words with his butler, staring out the window all the while. Maeve wondered what their relationship was like: it seemed a bit stiff for the licentiousness they so clearly got up to.

            She took advantage of her secrecy to examine the slender demon. His gaze was alert and watchful, careful to detect any sign of danger to his master. _‘To his_ contractee _,’_ the succubus corrected herself. _‘To think he not only put a bun in that oven but went and stayed by his side as well! Whatever happened to the commitment-fearing Great Prince and his forty legions?’_

            She amused herself with the absurdity of it all, dismantling the hierarchies of Hell in her daydreams. Things had been far too unbalanced in their spheres of late, the booming populous of strong Hellspawn outnumbering the covens of esteemed incubi and succubae alike. Well, personal vendettas aside, she’d be sure to settle that score even if she had to use her own two hands to do it.

            Which had led her to The Regent’s Park, waiting near the home she’d overheard the pair announcing they would be visiting. Hearing a carriage rattle along the road, a wicked smile curled over her lips. Extracting a hand from her muff, she rooted in the pocket of her traveling jacket, withdrawing a small compact mirror. Unclasping the hinge, she turned it in the palm of her hand, for all the world checking her complexion while she spied upon the scene behind her.

            The black lacquered vehicle had drawn short before the first home, a taupe slate estate with an impressive set of front doors done up in green to match the shutters. The driver dismounted gracefully, and quickly she recognized the fluttering black hair of the demon. “Sebastian” she believed the Phantomhive had called him. How perfectly ridiculous for the demon to let himself be kept like a pet, given some foreign name that was not his own. By all rights he should be humiliated to have been brought down so low, and by a mere human, no less.

            Approaching the side of the vestige, the butler helped his master from the conveyance, pausing undiscernibly for a moment on the street. A moment more and they were approaching the estate, mounting the steps and announcing their presence at the door. A maelstrom of yapping resounded at once and Maeve winced. She hated when her targets and their associates kept animals; she resolved to kill the hound as soon as she was able.

            Bounding from the home the little white terror emerged, springing about the earl’s feet and barking excitedly. The maid from within gathered the horrible creature and exchanged a few words with the pair, clearly familiar with them both. She invited them inside the home and Maeve could ascertain no more.

            Content with her voyeuristic accomplishment, she folded up the small mirror, slipping it back inside the confines of her pocket. Returning her stray hand to the muff, she pushed off the railing of the bridge, walking calmly along the road to where the two had disappeared. Turning to her right rather than the left, however, she made for a different house, one just across the main road that also faced the park.

            This residence was a bit cheerier, the brickwork and stone accentuated by crisp white trim and a handsome umber door. Maeve walked up the front steps, rapping politely at the entrance while admiring the inlay of stained glass in the window above. It featured a curious scene: translucent blue flowers forming the backdrop of a ring of white toadstools.

            _‘She shouldn’t advertise so much,’_ the blonde thought to herself as the butler opened the door. He was a broad shouldered fellow with shaggy white hair plaited down his back, a bizarre style for the period. His hooded green eyes gazed at the woman upon the doorstep in suspicion, not relaxing even when he could deduce she, too, was a supernatural.

            Maeve offered him her card and he took it near wordlessly, voice rumbly and rough. He had a roguish charm to him, but Maeve wasn’t there for mere pleasantries and flirtations (of which the residence offered plenty). In a moment’s time, he was ushering her through the front door and conducting her up the stairs, letting her know where the mistress of the house could be located.

            Unlike its traditional exterior, the inside of the estate was spacious and woody, polished floors and walls gleaming with warmth. Sculptures and mirrors bedecked the space, bits of colored glass peeking through the hatched surface of the windows. Oil paintings and half-finished canvases sat upon easels, the floor beneath covered in paint-splattered tarps. The whole home smelled floral and sweet, altogether inviting and yet overpowering to the succubae’s sensitive nose.

            The butler led her to a door at the end of the hall, ornate carvings of leaves and grapes belying the true decadence of the estate. “Mistress Ó Cuirc will see you now,” he intoned, holding the way open for her.

            Maeve stepped forward into the spacious drawing room, noticing at once the roaring fireplace with its ivory and gold mantle and the grand piano perched on a Turkish carpet along the far corner. Before the blaze stood a willowy woman reading a book in a single hand, carnation skirts and ochre complexion warmed by the glow.

            She turned to her guest with a brilliant smile, thick black hair fanning about her. Closing the volume and placing it aside, she floated across the space with open arms. Dressed appropriately, she still looked for all the world like an ancient muse, slender frame and delicate hands painting a demure if rhapsodic woman. Stepping forward lightly as if on tiptoe, she embraced the succubus, smelling distantly of roses and moss.

            “It’s been a long time, Shayla,” the blonde addressed her friend, patting her awkwardly on the back.

            The leanan sídhe smiled at her, rolling back on the balls of her feet and staring up at the much taller woman through thick lashes. “Indeed it has, Maeve,” she returned, voice gentle and reedy. She retreated to the couch nearest the piano, patting the seat beside her for her friend to join. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

            “Well certainly I miss your company,” the other laughed. “However have you been doing? I see you’ve got a new butler. A cù sìth, is he? Find him in the Hebrides?”

            “The Highlands, in fact,” the fairy returned pertly. “Wandering the rocks, he was. Doesn’t seem to have a pack. He doesn’t speak much.”

            “But does he bay?” Maeve teased. “I’m sure there are plenty of nursing women about, surely he can bring you one by the third bark.”

            “Oh shush,” the aos sí teased, scrunching up her nose. “I haven’t had a baby in five years time. Can you believe she’s already out seducing men of her own?”

            “Your kind do develop quickly,” the blonde praised.

            “That we do. But come, surely you’re not here to talk about all that. You know I’m as neutral as they come; what Hell business have you come to drag me into this time?”

            “I only seek information this time,” Maeve promised. “On your bordering neighbor, in fact. As the matter goes, it has quite a lot to do with little ones.”

            “Oh?” Shayla hummed, quirking a petit brow. “This isn’t like the time with your nephew, is it? That was a terrible mess.”

            “With Owen?” the blonde pursed her lips. “Well yes and no; this time it’s a demon that’s gotten some poor human boy carrying for him, but that very vessel so happens to be the son of the boy that ended things for my sweet nephew.”

            “Phantomhill, was it?”

            “Phantomhive,” Maeve corrected. “But yes, the very same.”

            “Oh, Maeve,” the smaller breathed, toying at a pink lip. “Should you really be interfering with this one? What if that dreadful reaper comes back? It’ll only spell trouble, you know it to be true. Won’t you be careful?”

            “This is more than some petty matter of revenge, Shay,” the taller hummed.

            _‘Although that is a nice caveat_ ,’ she added privately to herself.

            “The demon in question is particularly high ranking. A Great Prince, if you will.”

            “You couldn’t mean M –!” the delicate woman gasped.

            “Indeed,” her guest interjected, smile triumphant. “So as you might imagine, it is imperative to my own comfort to halt this nonsense in its tracks. Before they – or that whelp – can prove very dangerous.”

            “But whatever has this to do with my neighbor?” Shayla asked with a pout.

            “In my research I’ve found that the earl – the vessel, you see – keeps quite strange company. That which lasts – most die, it seems – appear to be particularly skilled at one trade or another. I need to know if this friend of his should pose any… inconvenience.”

            “Oh I do hope you won’t kill her,” the dark haired woman exclaimed, smoothing a few wiry locks between her fingers. “She’s rather nice, you know. If a bit perceptive. But you know how I feel about killing, Maeve.”

            “Coming from one whose existence depends solely on prematurely harvested souls?” the blonde laughed harshly.

            “You know I don’t hurt them,” Shayla frowned. “They have brilliant, short lives, flashing before time as a shooting star. But I must extinguish them, it’s for their own good. They’ll go too mad if I don’t. They’d be in agony.”

            “You’re too soft,” the other huffed.

            “I remain neutral,” the hostess insisted. “I take what I need and nothing more. Sure the chase is fun for me but I don’t play with my food!”

            “No, you just fuck it.”

            “Maeve!” the smaller gasped.

            “Come now, darling, there’s no need for pretend modesty,” the succubus sighed. “We both sleep our way to comfort and prosperity. Now be a good girl and tell me about this neighbor of yours?”

            “Oh…” the other scowled. “Alright. Her name is Sieglinde Sullivan and she hails from Germany. She arrived let’s see… five years ago? Bit of an odd bird, that. Dressed in these hideously old clothes. Well that changed quickly enough and she cut her hair to match. Walks a bit strange, taking these tiny steps and holding on to her attendants. I suppose she can’t manage much more.”

            “Sounds promising,” Maeve pressed. She could handle an invalid girl.

            “Yes, but there’s more,” the fae licked her lips. “She gets frequent visits from all of these fancy carriages. I never get to see who they are, but she seems to be in league with someone quite prominent.”

            “Good connections are scarcely uncommon these days.”

            “I suppose… but then there’s her maid. She goes by Iris and her hair is as white as Conall’s!”

            “Your butler?”

            “Yes! It is of course possible among the general population, but I have to wonder what she is, you know? I can’t scent anything peculiar about her.”

            “Well that is good to note,” Maeve pursed her lips. She didn’t like dealing with unknown factors, and a potential supernatural could really complicate matters for her. “Any other peculiarities?”

            “Well, one,” Shayla admitted. “It happened two times at night, about a month apart, I recall. See my dear love the painter was resting beside me –”

            Maeve snorted at that.

            “And I was gazing out the window, looking at the stars, you know? Well the moon was beautifully full both nights, because I could see into the streets below rather clearly. That’s when I noticed Miss Sullivan and her maid entering their carriage with a large trunk. Well the first time I thought little of it, though they did seem strangely dressed for an evening outing. The second time I thought it stranger still. Perhaps it’s some routine of theirs?”

            Maeve stiffened as the words began to register. “On full moons, you say?” she repeated.

            “Yes,” the aos sí insisted, hands clasped before her. “But if you’re thinking they’re loup-garou I must dissuade you. Although the mistress smells vaguely of wolf-scent, she’s rather human. Even if she had her true nature bound, she should smell more keenly of canine.”

            “Thank you, Shay,” the blonde returned instead, undeterred. She rose from her seat abruptly, straightening her back as her mental cogs began to spin.

            “Maeve?”

            “A witch,” the taller returned archly. “The only kind of human who abides by the changing of the moon. You’ve been of great help, my friend.”

            “Won’t you stay for tea?” the other asked, startled.

            “Not this time, I’m afraid,” the succubus announced, pausing at the door. “I’ve much work to do.” Leading herself out of the home she set back through the Regent’s Park with the beginnings of a plan piecing itself together in her mind.

**Xxxxxxxxxx**

            The servants, as always, managed to pull off their task with gusto. All of Sieglinde and Iris’ personal effects had been delivered to the Phantomhive Town Estate in the short amount of time it took to bisect The Regent’s Park. Agni had greeted the trio at the front steps, happily carrying Sieglinde up to the landing where her classmate – and good friend to both her and Ciel – had just appeared.           

            “Ciel! Sieglinde!” Prince Souma Asman Kadar cried happily, running to gather Sieglinde’s hands in his own as soon as the butler set her to her feet. The two exchanged a press of cheeks on either side in what Ciel had always felt to be an incredibly forward manner before the prince pulled away from his classmate and turned to Ciel.

            Smiling, Souma pressed his hands together in a traditional greeting and bowed politely, “ _Namaste_ , Ciel.”

            Ciel smiled and extended a hand, which Souma shook with great gusto. The prince had –at long last – come into his title with maturation. As such, he’d learned the sensitive art of tact alongside reading other’s emotions and began to realize that Ciel was not fond of his errant physicality. It was a bit inevitable, after the pair had spent an entire year together at Weston before Souma’s graduation, and subsequently grown much closer than they’d been in the past.

            After his time at the boys’ school, Souma had decided to further his education and enrolled at the University of London to study business and social welfare. His friendly demeanor gave him a leg up in both regards and Ciel suspected that Souma would one day become a fine tradesman. However, Souma’s main focus was social welfare, especially in concern to the Indians that had been forced to immigrate in the wake of Indo-British trade. He sought to provide means for them to return to their home country, and in the case that they wished to remain in Great Britain, be able to provide them with fair employment and living conditions. In related concerns, Souma had recently been outspoken against the employment of children and unsafe factory conditions, often holding parlors at the townhome that catered to those of similar socio-political interest.

            The interest had not entirely come as a shock to Ciel, who had taken more than a moment to re-evaluate the working conditions of his own factory as a result. He recalled visiting Souma during his schooling and debating the finer points of the prince’s concerns, leading to a revolutionary choice on Ciel’s part to ban child labor from Funtom’s factories and begin improving working conditions. Despite the seemingly-generous change, it had been – overall – an ingenious move for Ciel both in business and politics gaining him the favor of more than a few philanthropist nobles and businessmen. The change also could not have had better timing in Ciel’s eyes – if he had not publically sought to improve the working conditions of his factories, the fire at the Thames factory could have been played up as negligence on his part.

            But, in all, Souma was still the same bombastic and affectionate person that he had always been. He had kindly offered his arm to Sieglinde and was showing her into the estate’s foyer with all the charm of a proper gentleman.

            Meanwhile, Sebastian had appeared and the three servants were having a quick conference over the state of the kitchen. It appeared that Agni’s tandoori oven and Iris’ cauldron were making for limitations in floor space. Ciel smiled a bit at the simple domesticity of the conversation and set off inside.

            The moment that the estate doors closed, Iris wheeled upon Agni, her silvery eyes wide.

            Sebastian clapped a hand over the maid’s mouth.

            “Now Iris,” he chided. “You of all people should know better than to spread word of other people’s… affairs.”

            “Affairs?” Agni repeated, blinking owlishly as he stared between his two friends. “Mister Sebastian, is everything well?”

            Iris wrenched Sebastian’s hand from over her mouth and turned round to face him, giving him one of her signature blasé looks, “As if you aren’t guilty of the very same. I have it on good authority that the vast majority of your job consists of digging up others’ dirty business.”

            Sebastian ducked close to Iris to hiss in her ear: “Yes, but I do _not tattle to my bloody friends like a child_. Besides, do you really think Agni of all people could keep a secret?”

            Iris pushed the demon off of her to stare at Agni’s benevolent face. She could only anticipate the lengths he would go to in order to assure Ciel’s comfort and the guilty expression he would be wearing from that moment forward; not only that, but the suspicion that it would raise as well. Agni was the kindest man she knew but – bless him – he could not keep a secret if the world depended on it. That, and it would force Sebastian to admit his nature to Agni, and Iris wasn’t absolutely certain if the demon had divulged that information to their friend quite yet.

            “Mister Sebastian has ordered a new candy cooling table, further complicating our kitchen debacle.” Iris lied, batting the demon away.

            “Candy?” Agni looked at Sebastian, moon-eyed. Suddenly, the cogs seemed to turn and he clapped his hands together in understanding. “Ah! Naturally you’ll be hard at work developing new confections for the upcoming Christmas season,” he smiled at Sebastian, prideful in his friend’s devotion to his charge’s company.

            “What kind of butler would I be if I could not perform such a task?” Sebastian bowed, shooting a sweet glance of murder at Iris out of the corner of his eye. He wondered where, exactly, he was supposed to order a candy cooling table and supposed that he might as well look into purchasing several books about making the stuff.

            “Well, I imagine we’ll simply transfer the cauldron to the grand fireplace, since Miss Sullivan enjoys tending to potions as well. It should be easy enough to store away if any company decides to visit. As for my tandoori, I can imagine it can find a place behind the kitchen; they’re traditionally used outdoors regardless.” Agni concluded, settling the original conundrum. “Until then, please make yourselves at home.”

            Agni opened the doors, allowing in his two fellow servants who stepped into the foyer and set about shedding their charges of their coats.

            “My lady, perhaps you’d care to change for dinner?” Iris inquired as she removed the green-tassled walking cloak from Sieglinde’s shoulders. The younger witch made a great show of rolling her eyes at what she considered to be a modern frivolity, but assented and allowed herself to be whisked away to her closet.

            Souma instantly rounded on Ciel, grinning ear-to-ear.

            “So! I’ve heard news of an upcoming wedding!” he said, all but bouncing foot-to-foot.

            ‘ _So much for maturation_ ,’ Ciel thought with an inward groan, stalking off towards the parlor with his best friend at his heels.

            The moment the two were in the other room, Sebastian felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to face Agni, who was looking at him with worry.

            “So, what’s really going on?” he asked with a concerned little smile.

            ‘ _Being called out on your bullocks indeed_ ,’ Sebastian thought with a wry smile of his own. Giving in, he allowed the other butler to lead him to the kitchens. He was grateful that Iris was otherwise occupied; else she would butt in at all the wrong moments.

            A small fire crackled in the brick hearth, lighting the broad room with warmth. Unable to still his nerves, the demon set about cooking. Anything would do, really, he just needed to busy his hands. He slipped off his gloves and threw wide the cabinets staring vaguely at the glimmering pans and sheets. “You’re as perceptive as always, my friend,” he commented, pulling down several bowls and a tin of sugar. “That’s a lucky skill.”

            The man hummed in agreement, carefully watching as the other butler set about the kitchen, preparing an area of granite countertop and rolling up his sleeves. “Especially now,” Agni added. The demon gave a small grunt in reply, spreading his workstation evenly with flour. “We should fence again sometime, though I doubt you need the practice.”

            “Ah, but it’s not a bad suggestion,” Sebastian smiled, whisking the contents of a bowl together. “You should be proud of yourself, you matched a demon.”

            It had been only a scant year ago that he’d finally revealed himself to his friend, unable to dodge the questions any longer. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so expedient in rebuilding the Phantomhive Estate, but it was quite literally in his nature. Still, complete restoration in a single night was fairly suspicious.

            He’d expected Agni to rebuke him and become fearful for himself and his master. Instead, he’d given his usual benevolent smile and thanked him for his trust and honesty. He had long since suspected that Sebastian was something other than human and had made his peace with it. He was the same man, after all.

            “Mn,” Agni frowned, thinking back to their spar almost six years prior. “You probably didn’t use your full strength, did you?”

            “Not at first,” his friend admitted. “By the end, however…” he shook his head. “As I said, you’re an equal match. You shouldn’t be so nervous.”

            “It’s not for myself that I’m worried,” the white haired man replied softly. “I trust you to protect Master Ciel with your very life – you’ve never shown any intention of doing otherwise, at least – but I care for him, too. Not just him, either… Not to say that Master Souma isn’t adept, but… we _are_ still just humans. I’ve seen enough to understand the fragility of a life’s existence. I couldn’t bare it if such precious beings were stolen from this world.”

            “You’re a good man, Agni,” the other remarked, an odd half-hearted smile on his lips. “You can appreciate that which takes others hundreds of years to discover.” He lapsed into silence. The other butler blinked in surprise.

            “And what thing would that be?”

            “Love,” the demon said simply. Again they fell quiet, the human watching his friend with interest as he set about pie making. The dough was slapped on the counter, expertly kneaded out into a round, and sheared. Thin strips braided into intricate latticework, nimble fingers marrying them together. There was a bizarre sort of weariness about the demon as he set to his work.

            “Now will you tell me what troubles you?” Agni murmured, narrowing his eyes in worry.

            “Is it really that obvious?” the demon sighed, giving the rolling pin an accusatory look. He hated to think that he was growing so transparent.

            “Come, sit by me,” the other answered by invitation. “There’s some chai on the stove, it should relax you.”

            Giving his scraps of dough a despairing look, Sebastian parted from the counter, collecting the spiced tea in a mug and sliding onto a barstool. He could feel his friend’s eyes on his bare hands; traces of flour could not hide the natural black lacquer of his claws, nor the scar of the contract carved into his flesh. He allowed the curiosity, trying not to feel like a specimen. Fingers drummed on the thick ceramic of his mug and he expelled a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

            “It’s been stressful lately,” he hedged, not looking at anything.

            “That’s a given,” Agni replied calmly. “It’s much more than surface conflicts, however,” he added perceptively.

            “It’s Ciel,” Sebastian began, licking at his lips. “Well, to make a long story short, he’s… well, he’s pregnant.”

            They ruminated in silence for a moment, not quite looking at one another. “You’re a bit more than just a demon, aren’t you?” Agni spoke at last. “An incubus?”

            “No,” the other shook his head with a small smile. “Just… quite high ranking in demon society. I have more prowess and command than what might be considered ‘common’ beings.”

            “I see,” Agni mused.

            “So you believe me?”

            “You’ve given me no reason to doubt you,” the other sighed, looking a bit weary. “It would be quite out of character for you to jest about something like this, beside.”

            Sebastian relaxed considerably in his seat. It was surprisingly cathartic to get the news off his chest.

            There was another pause, then Agni chewed at his lip, “Your coming here? That’s the real reason, right? It’s about the child?”

            Sebastian swallowed thickly. The child. It was the first time someone had spoken of them in that way. Not a beast, not a monster, a child. Something tiny and precious and fragile. “What do you mean?” he asked, barely louder than a whisper.

            “You’re in danger, are you not?” Agni returned, quieting. “So whatever is hunting you is after the baby or isn’t happy with the… with the pregnancy,” he stated a bit awkwardly. “What’s going on, exactly?”

            “It’s a succubus,” the demon answered lowly. “Their sort have held animosity for demons since…” he thought back through the course of his several thousand year life, trying to discern just when the disagreements had sparked. “Since a very long time,” he resolved simply. “They see titled demons as a threat to their covens and their power. They fear that the equilibrium between us will be upended in the favor of my kind. That’s why they hold such contempt for our offspring. Enough to…” he winced, growing bitter. “Enough to kill them whenever they come across them.”

            “That’s terrible,” the other frowned. “You seem angry about it. I have to think, given that this child is yours that they can’t just mean nothing to you.”

            “I don’t know what Ciel will decide,” the demon ushered softly. “I doubt he even knows yet, but the situation brings up so many questions and uncertainties. I have no idea how he will wish to explain it to his… fiancé. Or to the Middleford family as a whole. I suppose… should he keep the child that Lady Elizabeth will be the one to raise it.”

            “But there’s no knowing that as fact until you’ve discussed it together, correct?” the other pieced together. “What is it that  _you_  want, Sebastian?”

            The demon turned, wide eyed. “What I…?” he dismissed the idea with a firm shake of his head. “That’s of no consequence,” the plethora of distant fantasies tumbled to the forefront of his mind and he shut his eyes to them. “The reality of the situa –.”

            “It is important,” Agni interjected. His voice was firm, but his pale blue eyes held their same kindness. “A child isn’t the product of one person alone, it’s the result of a sacred union. There’s no shame in being a part of that, and it’s clearly affecting you. What are you running from?”

            Sebastian froze, the words dying in his throat. Running. He was always running. All his long life he’d been doing it, breaking up every good thing he’d had just because they’d become too serious, too sincere. He’d lost every lover he’d ever held, and it was all of his choosing. No one had been spared from his cruel dismissal, not even…

            An unpleasant thought uncurled in his belly like a snake. Did it make others see him as a coward? Did it  _make_  him a coward? He stared at the other butler with all of his patient benevolence. Where did such a man draw his strength from? He could freely explain himself – even to the point of melodrama for the sake of his master – without a second thought. He had no fear of his own emotions, or the power they could hold over others. Others… His brow creased slightly, recalling Agni’s words.

_“…but I care for him, too. Not just him, either.”_

            Could it be he got by on mere faith alone? The trust in other beings? ‘Love’, Sebastian had said. That was the element that Agni possessed for others. The demon dropped his gaze, tentatively lowering the gates to his fortress. He had come to learn to be self-reliant, independent to the point of apathy. He didn’t reveal his thoughts to others; he had been content with cordial relationships, mutual sorts of friendships. But to put trust in others, to give them the tools to harm him? Certainly, he considered himself close to Ciel, but he had never just opened up to him either. The only individual that came close would have been Undertaker, peculiar as their relationship was.

            Agni waited in amicable silence, swirling the contents of his mug. Truly, there were so many others around the demon. He’d never really noticed; he had always been the backbone. “I…” he began uncertainly. “I would rather be a part of their life. But… I don’t think that will be granted to me. I have no experience, and I probably lack the affection, but I want to be their father. Not just in blood, either. …I want to know my child. I want to be a part of their lives.”

            “Their?”

            “Ah…” the demon broke off. He hadn’t meant to say such things aloud. Still, he had to give Agni’s way a try. “Yes, ‘their’: the child’s and Ciel’s.”

            “More so than you are now?”

            “…Yes. As… ” Sebastian inexplicably dropped his gaze to his cup, filling with shame. “As a family.” The words sounded even more preposterous out in the open.

            “Then I will pray for your dream to come true.”

            “Wh –? …Why?” Sebastian faltered.

            “You’ve heard my story,” his friend returned quietly, staring into the contents of his chai. “My life now is one of repenting. I regret the things I have done in my past; the hedonistic and truly barbaric way that I allowed myself to act and treat others. I was once a Brahman: anything I could possibly want was only a breath away and so I came to appreciate nothing. I suspect you and I are not so very different.”

            Sebastian stroked the side of his mug and cocked his head in interest. His fellow butler met his gaze and gave a small smile. “I had everything and nothing: colossal power and influence, but no love. Then Prince Souma came into my life when I most needed him. He literally saved my life and brought to it a warmth and hope that I had never imagined. He gave me a name and a home. He gave me a purpose,” his face heated and he dropped his gaze, letting his voice quiet. “How could I not love him?”

            Sebastian blinked in surprise. It wasn’t beyond reason, given the playful way the two interacted, the physicality of their relationship. It was enviable in ways; the amount of comfort they displayed towards one another, even in the presence of complete strangers. They hadn’t been brought together by obligation or bitterness, but by compassion. Agni had been granted a rebirth through empathy and love; Sebastian, too, had been rechristened to a new life, but to one drenched in blood and hatred.

            “You said we are alike,” he murmured. “How do you mean?”

            “Surely you can answer that for yourself,” Agni returned, still flushed. “In these past six years I have seen the change in you. You’ve become someone better just for knowing Ciel. He’s inspired something within you and in return has grown to trust you and rely upon you. Now I know you to be a demon and after all this time, you’ve still stayed by his side. There’s more binding you to him than a covenant. …Do you love him, Sebastian?”

            There was no hesitation. “I do,” the melancholic smile returned. He didn’t know if he was ready to admit its equivalence to his once great love, long since squandered. But there was no denying that he held love for his master, even if it was just an appreciative and protective love.

            “Then you have to tell him.”

            “Tell him?”

            “I mean it,” Agni insisted, placing his fingers against the back of the demon’s hand. “I may not understand how your politics work, but I understand enough to see that you’re both in grave danger. What if – and I pray not – something were to happen? Death or separation… don’t leave something like this hidden. Don’t risk having regrets. At any rate, he needs you right now, even if it doesn’t appear to be that way. He’s strong, but he cannot bare this burden alone. Promise me that you will confess? It’s so hard to see either of you in pain.”

            “Only if you do the same.”

            “The sa –?”

            “You said yourself that we are alike,” Sebastian pointed out, but the gentle set of his eyes calmed the other butler. “For your own sake, practice as you preach. You have a lot of wisdom, yet you still endure the pain of your own emotions? You’re a selfless individual – if anyone deserves to find their happiness, it’s you. So promise me.” he supplicated, turning to his companion as he slipped on his gloves.

            “Ah, our situation isn’t as ba –.”

            “Promise.”

            “Alright, I promise,” Agni resigned good-naturedly. “Now go, won’t you? I’ll clean this place up, just go and check on him.”

**Xxxxxxxxxx**

            Fairfield Grange lay on the outskirts of London, settled within the downs. Its iron gates and expansive gardens snaked around the towering property whose ashen walls stood resolutely against the cold. The inside was no friendlier: comprised of aged stone, the manor was castle-like and offered little warmth or comfort. The grand foyer – scarcely carpeted – gave way to marble staircases and corridors with vaulted ceilings.

            Behind the wooden doors the rooms were somewhat more welcoming: ornate furniture from far reaches of the globe lay arranged before austere fireplaces and heavily curtained windows that overlooked the maze of hedges outside. Certainly it was beautiful, but Cosette found she really hated the place. It reminded her too much of Maeve. As it should, given the blonde was the sole owner of the Grange.

            Cosette sat unhappily in the room that was deemed hers, settling her powder blue skirts around the bench that accompanied the piano. It was a boudoir grand suiting to her tastes: she’d had it shipped out to the Grange by sea on one of the many occasions she’d taken up the room. Thoughtlessly she plunked at the keys, enjoying the rich notes that issued forth. It had been a long while since she had played, really, properly played. She used to be great; she would compose off the cuff, crafting sentiments into beautiful sound, entertaining parlors and house guests alike. Now she only played for herself, a miserable tune of discordant keys. Her fire had gone ever since Maeve had tripped back into her life.

            Already she was at the woman’s beck and call: arranging her estate for her arrival and picking up her things at the train station. The blonde had told Hobb to place her luggage on any line to London, leaving Cosette on the other end to find and retrieve them, having her borrowed servants settle them atop the carriage. The servant she had chosen was one of Maeve’s butlers, a handsome individual of mixed Irish and Indian heritage. With their soft raven hair and sharp feline eyes, they kindled something in her breast: desire.

            She had eyed the butler throughout the proceedings at the station, watching their lithe form and apparent strength as they single handedly navigated the heavy trunk. When her attentions were noticed, she was rewarded with a fanged grin that made her weak. Even when settled back at the Grange, she was loath to let them out of her sight. She was uncertain as to the gender of the servant, their appearance beautiful and androgynous. Her interest only piqued when she noticed the butler adopted male pronouns for himself.

            She’d done a manner of intentionally ditzy things, dropping teacups and bruising her ankle. The servant had seen to her every need, treating her kindly and laughing softly at her jokes. He introduced himself as Kiran Buckley, a cat sidhe who had been orphaned when he was a scant thirty years old. Maeve had found him during her travels, he said, and offered him a job as her personal butler. He quickly progressed through the house hierarchy, serving just under the steward and taking on many of his duties in preparation to succeed him.

            The gun that rested at his hip suggested he was more than just a butler, however. Cosette questioned him on it, and his expression brightened. He was in charge of protecting the estate, dealing with Maeve’s enemies of human and lesser fae and demon existence, a bullet being enough to terminate their existence.

            To Cosette he was perfect.

            She needed desperately to cheer herself up, she felt. And a man was just the way to do it. But the cat sidhe protested her charms, turning her down kindly as she lowered her lashes and plumped her breasts with a careful angling of her arms. “There’s a certain dog in town…” he tried to explain, referring lightly to the other fae. “Your attentions do flatter,” he insisted.

            But Cosette knew rejection when she saw it. She had faced it far too many times. The feeling sat in her gut like a pile of rocks, spurring her self-hatred and disgust. The first time she had been turned down was memorable to say the least. The man – a handsome reaper who she knew was dangerous to entertain – had taken her interest almost immediately. He was strangely kind to her despite the dislike between their races, and he often spent time in her company. She had fallen quite thoroughly for him. “He’s the one,” she would say to herself. “Perhaps this time I’ll start a family.”

            She wasn’t entirely wrong, but what she got was nothing close to what she had bargained for.

            Much to her shock and dismay, the reaper had taken a new lover, some bright eyed rabbit demon that he quickly bedded and mated. But their union was cursed by their mingling of blood, and the child they produced was unnatural. Doomed to a life of ostracization and limited capability, the baby had looked almost normal were it not for the dusting of dark wings that sprouted from his tiny body.

            It was like this that Cosette had found him; the blood of his parents still fresh on her face and clothes. It would become a pattern for her in time: unable to take the rejection of a perceived lover, she would track them down and slaughter them in their homes, taking her replacement down with them. But this had been Cosette’s first time, and the weight and shock of murder still hung heavy on her mind. Guilt – an emotion that she had numbed away – came to her in full force, and, not knowing how else to repent, she took the infant harpy into her arms and carried him home.

            She knew full well how the child would become, his otherness growing all the more apparent the older he became. Skin was slowly replaced by oily feathers, shimmering black and teal between the light of the lamps. His feet spread, splitting and branching into talons. She had tended to them with ointments and warm compresses as they transformed, wiping the blood away from the aching appendages as the child croaked out his anguish.

            He had never been capable of human sound, his infant wails replaced instead by the chirping and warbling of a baby bird. This then evanesced into croaks and caws, sharp and shrill and much louder than any ordinary avian.

            He seemed to understand speech, his milky red eyes roving and seeming to apprehend what was being spoken to him. He watched quietly as Cosette crafted dolls of the parents he’d never known. She wondered if he knew that she wasn’t his mother, if he even knew what he was or that he’d be scorned and hated by the supernatural society if she let him out of his attic room.

            She had had to move him there, she rationed. The more birdlike he became, the more he disturbed the servants, making them unsettled and on the precipice of quitting altogether. His calls – once frequent – quieted over the years into muted trills and he shuffled away from the presence of others. Only Cosette he allowed near, nuzzling into her lap with his wide beak and supplicating pets from her. Her fingers were small and gentle against his plumage, making pleasant sounds as she combed through the feathers.

            She called him her precious heart, her baby, but never by his name, Philippe. The brunette knew it was beyond her capability to acknowledge him in that way, the infant child she once cradled in her arms transformed into a monstrous carrion-hungry bird. She wondered if she had been a good mother to him, sheltering him as she had, letting him fly about at night and hunt for himself, incorporating him into her plans with Maeve.

            Together they exterminated those that threatened the influence of incubi and succubae: other harpies, cambions, and caulists. Then there was the current case, a rare child born of Hell royalty that would most certainly become an issue for her kind. Perhaps it was cruelly ironic to implicate her child in such a way, but at least he was given a semblance of a family, right? Looking at him huddled in the corner of the room, preening his feathers with his curved beak, she wondered if he even had the capacity for emotions or thoughts anymore. He was completely beyond her understanding.

            She jumped as Maeve entered her room, the succubus sliding forward with a content look upon her face. Carelessly, she shed her coat and muff, tossing them on her friend’s bed and settling beside the brunette at the bench.

            “Things are going well, I take it?” Cosette broached, taking in her companion’s smug expression.

            “Quite,” Maeve asserted, tucking a stray lock of gold behind her ear. “I discovered that the young earl has a witch in his company.”

            “That doesn’t sound well,” the other pouted. “Witches are trouble, even for humans. What if she wards us away?”

            “Never mind that,” the blonde returned impatiently. “Thinking of that girl made me remember something: the Solomon seals, do you recall those?”

            “La, Maeve!” her companion brightened, a devilish look crossing her features. “It’s perfect, that demon will never see it coming!”

            “I suspect not,” the slender woman returned smugly. “I doubt he realizes anyone knows his true nature. Binding him will be easy,” she continued. “It’s just a matter of separating him from the others.”

            “Poo,” Cosette frowned. “He’s always so clingy to that brat, he’ll probably never leave his side.”

            “Not unless he’s forced,” the blonde’s smile didn’t waver.

            “Forced?”

            “By order of contract.”

            “But Maeve, he’s already bound to that boy!”

            “That doesn’t mean his fate can’t be rewritten. All I need is a bit of his blood and it’s a done deal.”

            “You don’t mean –?”

            “Yes,” Maeve hissed triumphantly. “I’m going affect his contract and forge a new one. I figure I can bully a reaper or two. So long as I sign it and take it from the library, well,” she laughed mischievously. “With just a drop of his blood, that prince will be mine.”

            “Oh do tell me I can play with him?” Cosette begged, eyes growing wide. “He is so very handsome. Wouldn’t it degrade him to be loved by a succubus?”

            “Do as you will with him once he is mine,” Maeve shrugged dismissively. “But if you kill him, I’ll adorn my front fountain with your head, do you understand?”

            The brunette paled, nodding quickly. She knew better than to think the other woman joking.

            “The same goes for my servants,” the other intoned sharply, eyes glinting in a way as if she could see right through the succubus seated beside her.

            Cosette’s insides writhed and she shook her head again. She would be sure to leave Kiran alone in the future, though a wistful part of her knew he would make a beautiful kill and an even lovelier doll.

            The harpy croaked in the corner, settling down to rest and tucking his beak beneath a wing. Maeve’s expression only brightened. “I haven’t forgotten about you,” she laughed, turning to Cosette authoritatively. “We need to make another move.”

            “Yes?” the brunette hedged. She had a feeling of what was coming, and she didn’t like it one bit.

            “Another factory,” Maeve instructed. “But this time he goes alone.”

            “Alone?” Cosette exclaimed, face heating. “That’s hardly safe for him!”

            “Nonsense, he did the first one well enough,” the other hummed dismissively. “Besides, there’s no need to implicate ourselves.”

            Cosette’s throat tightened around her protests. It sickened her to know that her friend would use her child as a scapegoat. Should they be found out so soon in their game, only the harpy would be put to blame, leading in his certain extermination. Would he even know why he would be attacked? Cosette wasn’t so sure he could cognate as much.

            “Okay…” she approved hesitantly.

            “Don’t think that’s all,” Maeve snorted. “I think another factory incident after that should suffice. If the problem isn’t settled by that time, we attack.”

            “And by ‘we’ you mean –?”

            “Yes, your ‘baby’ as it were. He’s perfect for the job; the longer we remain in concealment the better chance this has of going along without a hitch.”

            “You want me to send _my baby_ straight into that demon’s claws?” Cosette replied indignantly, voice raising a few octaves. “What if he’s killed? What will you do when he doesn’t come back, hmn?”

            “Then we’ll regroup and form another plan,” the succubus returned coldly. “It has to pull as much weight as the rest of us, besides,” she shot the harpy a disdainful look. “Get this creature ready for the evening; it has another factory to destroy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this were a homestuck AU, we would have had to tag this AgniSebastian because they are the best moirails.


	7. Gentianopsis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the next chapter of History Lesson: The Fanfiction. All the historical information in this fanfiction is accurate as far as we are aware, but feel free to inform us if there are any glaring mistakes.  
> So, graduation is all squared away and its off to vacation with us! As such, you get this chapter early, but the next chapter won't be until June 9. Thankfully there's not a cliffhanger this chapter so you can all rest easy. As always, we hope you enjoy this chapter! Thank you so much for your kudos and kind words! Much love! <3 Moosey

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Seven**

**Gentianopsis**

_“Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing.”_

– Oscar Wilde

            When Ciel awoke on October the 3rd he was nearly startled into full consciousness by the sudden appearance of his butler attending his bedside. The demon was quietly setting up for the morning as was his tradition – one that he’d been failing to attend to sporadically throughout the past month – setting out warm tea with milk and honey, a few biscuits, and the morning paper.

            Relations between the two of them had grown increasingly better, as if each were equally desperate to leave the awkwardness of past transgressions behind them. At least, it seemed as if that was Sebastian’s intent. Ever since they’d made their way to London the man had been markedly different, and Ciel couldn’t fathom why.

            Perhaps it was due to their company. The demon was always astounding at keeping up appearances and there was no reason for exception now. He probably didn’t want to lose face in front of Agni, whom he considered a friend, or even Iris, whom he was growing closer to. Sebastian _was_ fickle and more than prideful, so it was perfectly suiting.

            Except… Ciel watched impassively as his butler arranged the silver tray beside him, fingers ghosting the interior of the earl’s wrist. Except for that. The man had grown increasingly touchy, almost affectionate, seemingly overnight. As much as the younger was happy to see a change of disposition in his butler, he was equally suspicious and alarmed of the abruptness of the alteration. He knew that something was afoot and he didn’t like not knowing what.

            “Good morning, my lord,” Sebastian greeted quietly. His tone lacked any acidity, but his expression was grim.

            “What is it?” the earl asked instead. He couldn’t help the sudden palpitations of his heart. He had long since perfected wearing a mask of indifference, but it didn’t mean he was unfeeling regarding those he cherished. He thought immediately of Lizzy and hoped that she was well.

            His butler laughed softly, immediately detecting the rise in pulse. He shook his head, dissuading any mortal fears. “It’s a matter of business, I’m afraid,” he began, readjusting the paper and tapping the front page pointedly. Front and center was a sickeningly familiar headline, one that he’d read in Sieglinde’s company. “Funtom Fire Horrifies Harlesden” read the paper, a hand drawn image depicting the inferno below.

            “Another one?” the earl swore. “Shit, that was the perfumery,” Ciel noted, rubbing at his forehead. “At least tell me the Noses were away?” he begged, referring to the select workers who tested the products for the perfect balance of scent.

            “It was last night,” Sebastian detailed. “Only the evening staff were implicated; the injuries and casualties are akin to the Thames fire.”

            “Perfect,” the earl groaned. He already had enough reparations to disburse without having to worry about a cut in gross profits, too. But beyond that, the situation bothered him.

            What was the aim of burning down his factories? Nothing more than a power play? An acute reminder that anything could be taken from him at a moment’s notice? Well he was accustomed to that and the threats didn’t rattle him: they were an inconvenience more than anything.

            He had come to terms with the fact that his aggressor was a succubus – as ridiculous as it seemed – and that she had some sort of beef with Sebastian, chiefly because he was much more than he advertised.

            Hell royalty. That still felt out of place in his mind. Granted, Sebastian was capricious and discriminating in his tastes, so Ciel supposed that the image fit him after all. He snuck a look at the demon standing beside his bed. He wondered exactly what sovereigns in Hell got up to. Did they have palaces? How did they dress? He decided that the scene would either be decadent or debauched.

            Though that was quite a concept. Sebastian, done up in furs and brocades, dripping in gold, crimson irises peering over a fine chalice of wine while atop a throne. Stately and commanding, suddenly the one to be barking out orders and flashing the true sharpness of his fangs. Then, reversely, the same man in next to nothing, dark leather and shadows ensnaring his lightly muscled frame. Pupils pinched into catlike slits, those claws he knew so well extending and tracing against skin… Shocked at his own meandering thoughts, the earl looked pointedly back to the newspaper, fighting uselessly as a flush rose to his cheeks.

            “My lord?” Sebastian queried. Damn his perceptiveness. “Are you well?”

“Just irate,” Ciel bit out quickly. Sure, he had had sex with the demon, but fantasizing about him was something else altogether. It was almost like genuine affection.

            Uncomfortable, he shifted against the mattress, trying to redirect his mind. There were things to accomplish, mostly securing the name of the succubus in question. He wouldn’t buckle to her bullying and was frankly sick of her boorish attacks. Even if the target in question was his butler, he wouldn’t allow anyone to endanger them over their covenant.

            It made him reconsider Sebastian all over again. What was a high standing demon of Hell doing making contracts to human children? There was the general impression that the act was unusual, so what had made him so appealing to the demon? Moreover, what did the other man stand to truly gain from their pact? He had promised only his soul, one that was supposed to be quite delicious once steeped in revenge and hatred. In those regards, he was just a goose enduring gavage until he reached ripe time for slaughter, and he had approached the butcher himself.

 _‘What do you really get out of this?’_ he wondered suspiciously. _’Something important enough to garner the attentions and worry of a being as powerful as a succubus?’_

            There would be no extracting the information from his butler; he’d find ways to parse his words and tell only half-truths, even under compulsion of their bond.

            “We’ll have to head out,” Ciel spoke aloud. “The more we know about our enemy and their habits the better position we’ll be in to defend ourselves.”

            “Shall I ready a carriage?”

            “Yes, please see to it,” the earl sighed, almost regretting sending the man away. “We’ll be going to Lau’s place,” he added, not missing the twist of lips his words affected. “He will almost certainly have autopsy documents, second-hand or otherwise.”

            It was tempting to throw out another quip, one recounting his butler’s apparent familiarity with a particular mortician. Things would be considerably easier if they could just appeal to Undertaker directly, but the idea left a sour feeling in Ciel’s stomach and – if he was being honest with himself – he didn’t exactly relish the concept of sending the demon straight to his supposed lover.

            If Sebastian had similar thoughts, he didn’t express them or offer his services, instead setting about procuring the carriage. In less than a half hour he had set everything up unerringly, offering his hand to his master and helping him up into the conveyance. It was habit for them, even though Ciel realized the act could be viewed as slightly emasculating in the eyes of polite society. He paid it no mind and enjoyed the brief touch of Sebastian’s gloved hand.

            Seated along the plush bench – not plush enough to keep his behind from smarting from every odd bump or hitch – he prepared himself for the ride. It wouldn’t be particularly long, but that wasn’t the issue. What was more concerning was his frequent motion sickness that seemed to be exacerbated by each carriage trip he took. It was getting nothing short of obnoxious and it worried him that he was coming down with something.

            Sebastian had been patient with him on this front, offering him a stable arm to lean on once disembarking, as well as the occasional handkerchief should he get sick. He, for some reason, didn’t appear surprised or concerned about the condition whatsoever, always seeming to know how best to assist him without being asked. While that was nothing out of the ordinary for the demon and his heightened senses, it still proved a bit disconcerting that the man seemed to understand Ciel’s body better than the earl did.

            As he had feared, the ride jostled him greatly, leaving him shivering and nearly dry heaving along the side of the vehicle once they’d arrived. Sebastian placed a consolatory hand to his shoulder, guiding him to hold his knees to lessen the vertigo. “Better?” he asked softly, bending over to catch his master’s single exposed eye.

            “Yes, I think so,” Ciel panted out a moment later. He still felt a bit unsteady, but was significantly better than he had felt when he’d first tumbled out of the carriage. Knowing the scents of Lau’s den wouldn’t have him fairing much better he suppressed a nauseated groan.

            Sensing the other’s frustration, Sebastian passed his handkerchief off to him, curling the smaller’s fingers about the cloth. “Keep it,” he insisted kindly. “The fabric is woven thick enough that it should stave off some of the… odors.”

            “Thank you,” Ciel muttered, still unable to meet his servant’s eye. The scent of their surroundings was already less than ideal. Bordering the Thames, the stink of the water and the reek of garbage and soiled streets clashed to create a nauseating concoction. Slumped alongside one of the buildings was a drunk, muttering under his breath and slipping in and out of consciousness. Ciel could smell the acrid tang of his sick from where he stood.

            He really didn’t like traveling to the area.

            Home to many of the lower class and to foreigners, the East End was a bastion of crime and poverty. It was where many could afford and where others were shunted off to, deemed too subhuman for polite society. It was here that Ciel had first encountered Agni and Souma – he was glad to know that his friend intended to employ many of the homeless Indian peoples that had been forced to call the region home.

            It was there that Anagura was also concealed, a literal den of iniquity dealing opium to the rich and the poor alike and offering seedier services beneath the table. Its entrance lay across the river, sandwiched between two buildings with dilapidated walls. Wooden crates had been placed unwittingly near the mouth of the alleyway, and Sebastian had to shift them in order for the pair to gain access at all.

            Slipping through a small door to the side of one of the buildings – a false side entrance – they began their descent down the winding stone steps. The corridor was dark, illuminated in reds, blues, and purples by ornate Turkish and Moroccan lamps, colored glass and glinting copper warmed by the firelight. It didn’t prevent the earl from nearly tripping in the half-light, however, prompting Sebastian to quickly catch him by the arm. Ciel blushed in embarrassment, somewhat startled by the sudden contact. Rather than shrugging the man off as he was wont to do, he let the demon pat his back gently before straightening into his typical posture.

            The staircase terminated in a short landing and a pair of ornate wooden doors. Their faces were a bright red, engraved in gold geometric markings indicative of their owner’s heritage. Sebastian rested a gloved hand on one of the heavy brass handles, turning to his master. “Are you ready?” he asked kindly, nodding to the handkerchief still clasped in the other’s hand.

            “Might as well be,” the earl sighed. “Go on.”

            The moment the door gave way, the curling aroma of opium hit the earl’s nose. It smelled precisely of dried poppy flowers: cloyingly sweet with floral undertones, all at once rich and expansive as it overwhelmed the senses. Intertwined with this were the perfumed fragrances of sandalwood, patchouli, and frankincense as incense smoked in carved brass burners. In combination it was staggering, making Ciel feel like he had to cough and gasp for clean air. Resolutely, he fought the urge, ignoring the growing queasiness in his stomach.

 _‘Odd,’_ he noted to himself. _‘It usually doesn’t get to me quite this much. What has me feeling so sensitive now?’_

            A look to Sebastian found the demon suffering equally, looking positively green.

            While he hadn’t been to the hidden den in over a year, the place looked precisely the same as it had since he was a child. Swags of cloth hung suspended from the ceiling, creating partial partitions between the smokers, obscuring faces and casting a strange glow as the lamps reflected off their silken surface. Elegant wooden furniture lined the walls with less refined cots taking up the majority of the floor space. Altered English nobles and the odd sailor or unkempt factory worker lay upon the beds, eyes unfocused and hands outstretched to grasp at the slender mouthpieces of their pipes.

            Some, it was clear, were regulars, the signs of physical dependence upon them. These individuals would fidget as they sat waiting, rubbing at their aching arms or legs, seeming all at once irate and tense. They were treated with the same courtesy as the other patrons, attendants in short qipaos sending them sweet smiles and talking with them in gentle voices offering them the same kindness as any other.

            Ciel had to admit, Lau did run a good business. He watched as the girls padded around the room on slippered feet, kneeling gracefully on embroidered cushions, pouring tea from hobnail pots, or speaking softly in Chinese to inebriated clients. He knew better than to think them delicate, however: prostitutes though they may be, he had discovered from experience that they had all been trained in assassination arts much the same as Lau’s favorite, Ran Mao.

            The business owner himself sat smilingly upon his favorite seat: an ornate cherry bench covered in intricate woodwork, dragons and lotuses making up the thick back. Tasseled silk crepe pillows supported the man in the middle, camellia patterns just barely visible under the press of beautiful young women. They cooed and begged for Lau’s attentions, pawing at the front of his emerald changshan, toying with the corded frog closures across his chest.

            He lowered his ivory pipe and blinked at the newcomers, a sly smile winding across his face. “Why the little earl has come to pay me a visit!” he called by way of greeting.

            Ciel scowled. “I’m hardly little,” he returned sourly.

            “Come now,” Lau laughed. “No need to be so bitter. It’s not good for business, you know?”

            The younger scoffed but pushed no further. Sensing the mood, the other man ushered off the affection of the women settled across his lap, kissing each of them in turn and whispering sweet things to them in his native tongue. As they parted, another girl took their place, sitting beside Lau and leaning against his shoulder. Now a young woman, Ran Mao was acting mistress of the brothel side of affairs. She took care of those in her charge, teaching them how to protect themselves in addition to social graces.

            Gone were the days of her scanty clothes, the wardrobe raising more than a few eyebrows in prudish Victorian society. While her catlike buns and tinkling hair pin remained, she donned an elegant Manchu style cheongsam, its purple silk terminating at the middle of her thigh only to be replaced by lighter colored pants. Ciel noted that she kept the belled anklets that jingled lightly as she walked: she had matured beautifully, but still kept her progressive charms.

            Lau greeted her joyfully, wrapping an arm about her shoulders and placing a chaste kiss to the top of her head. It had never been clear what the relation between the two was like: Ciel had always assumed that they slept together despite Lau’s assertions that the woman was like a little sister to him. Whatever it was, their loyalty to one another was clear and the businessman seemed to hold the assassin in cherished regards.

            Looking at him with Ran Mao by his side it was easy to forget how incredibly dangerous Lau was. Head of the Anqing Daoyou syndicate, he ran not only his opium den and prostitution ring, but was the chief organizer of political and criminal activity from London to Shanghai. Made up of boatmen and salt smugglers, the gang had begun shortly after the grain trade was redirected to a sea route in place of the Grand Canal, making Ciel wonder just how old Lau really was. This he kept closely vested along with his darker secrets, always giving low approximations while laughing off his company’s disbelief.

            If that weren’t enough, Lau had also garnered himself the position of English Branch Manager for the Shanghai Trading Company Kong Rong, and the earl could only guess at the countless ways the job had been ascertained. He glanced warily to the man’s sleeves, knowing all too well that he kept a very long needle within them. While Lau insisted that it was just an instrument of medicine, Ciel had seen it used against enemies firsthand, putting them to sleep with its drug-soaked tip. He could only imagine with how deadly it looked that it had seen its share of blood, too.

            When the excitement had died down, Lau grew serious, turning his head to the side in curiosity. “So,” he prompted. “What brings you to my corner of the globe?”

            “You must already know,” Ciel countered with a frown.

            “Haven’t the faintest,” the other feigned.

            “Right. The factory fire?” the earl urged, unimpressed.

            “Ahhh, that,” Lau nodded. It didn’t offer much comfort: the man was renowned for going along with things he had no idea about, making it hard to tell how informed or ignorant he was up until the last minute. Sebastian seemed to disdain him this quality, referring to him as a “yes man”.

            “Well do you have anything for me on that front or not?” Ciel brooked.

            “That depends,” Lau returned predictably.

            “On what I’m willing to pay, right,” the younger grumbled. “Show me proof that you have what I need and then we’ll talk figures.”

            The gang leader smiled brightly, turning to Ran Mao and whispering hurriedly in her ear. She nodded briefly, nuzzling his neck before rising from the bench and disappearing behind a swath of cloth.

            “How is business?” Ciel asked casually.

            “Booming,” the older replied, look growing terse. “Britain never fails to increase my personal economy. And to think that we Chinese used to only be interested in importing silver.”

            The earl shifted awkwardly at the mention. Relations between England and China hadn’t been positive to say the least. After the Second Opium War of 1858, China had been forced to lower their 130 year ban on the drug, not only legalizing it but having no choice but to produce it in mass domestically. The poppy plants had originated from India, just another tampering of Britain’s reach: with the Chinese traders only interested in silver products, the English were left with the conundrum of how to create enough business in order to afford the price of foreign tea. The solution, it seemed, was to buy opium and it’s by-products from India and resell it to China. Naturally, the exporting had led to embittered feelings and tense relations.

            All of this many British nobles knew and pretended to forget, and Ciel had to admit that he was one of them. It was uncomfortable to be reminded so keenly.

            “And your syndicate? Is all running smoothly on that front?” he asked instead, determined not to drop his gaze.

            “As can be,” Lau assented. “Thanks to the Pharmacy Act our product is in limited hands and high demand.”

            Ciel nodded respectfully. Some twenty-five years prior – before his own birth, in fact – the Pharmacy Act had ensured that illicit drugs such as opium were taken off the streets. This then meant that they could only be procured by licensed professionals like pharmacists and chemists… and drug lords like Lau, who sold at a much steeper rate.

            Just beginning his business, the law only further drove the market into Lau’s hands when the All-India Opium Act of 1878 proposed that recreational use of the drug be restricted to smokers and eaters – the Chinese and Indians – thereby keeping addiction within immigrant populations. It was hideously unjust, but Lau had persevered through his bitterness, turning around and marketing the drug to the very same white aristocratic audience the laws had so fiercely tried to protect.

            “Have you specialized in opium, then?” Ciel asked politely.

            “Of course that’s not all we carry: salt, for instance, is still valued,” Lau added meaningfully. “And we’re thinking of changing our name, too. ‘Qīng Bāng’ – the ‘Green Gang’ in English. What do you think?”

            Ciel took in the other man’s appropriately green clothing and quirked a brow. “I’m assuming when you say ‘we’ you actually just mean yourself?”

            “Guilty.”

            Using the Majestic Plural now, are we?”

            “Hardly,” Lau laughed. He quieted down and took a thoughtful drag from his pipe. “You used to hate coming here,” he noted softly. “It’s all because of that man, isn’t it?”

            The earl didn’t have to question to know he was referring to Undertaker. He felt Sebastian shift uncomfortably behind him. _‘Serves you right,’_ Ciel thought harshly. He faced enough safety concerns without having to worry over the loyalty of his own butler.

            Before Ciel had chance to respond, however, Ran Mao had returned bearing a tray and in an altered state of dress. “Ran Mao!” her boss exclaimed amusedly. “Put your ku back on, we’re in decent company,” he ordered, pointing to her now-bare legs.

            “Don’t wanna,” she pouted, staring him down. Her English skills had improved, allowing her to adopt slang and conjunctions into her language. Still, she remained a quiet woman.

            “Whatever am I to do with you?” Lau smiled, patting the seat beside him and waiting for her to take it. Balancing the tray on his lap he rifled through the proffered papers. “Information from within the Yard,” he explained, not taking his eyes from the documents. “I have an inside man who works for his habit,” he continued, referring off handedly to the drug deal. “He hand copies information that might pertain to my interests – or those of my clients.”

            “Hand copied?” Ciel balked. “That must take a long time. Why not just lift them?”

            “Steal them?” the other wrinkled his nose. “That would be far too noticeable. I want to keep my stream of intel, you know? Besides, I’d rather not get caught,” he comprised, nodding to the various illegalities around them.

            “Certainly,” the earl acquiesced. “Do you have details from the morgue? I need information on the victims and the nature of their wounds.”

            “I do.”

            “And the investigation?” Ciel pressed. “They’ll only provide me so much as the business owner. I need implicit information on how the arson was likely conducted.”

            “That as well,” Lau assured.

            “Alright,” the younger hummed, satisfied. “You said you were in the market for salt. I have a shipment coming in from Canada in a week’s time. It can stop by your doorstep if you’re so inclined and you’re welcome to half the load. Is that agreeable?”

            “Aren’t we feeling generous today?”

            “Please, I just know how steep your rates are,” Ciel sniffed. He really hated paying more than was necessary, but Lau’s information was good and he didn’t feel like haggling.

            “I look forward to the day when you pay with something more,” the man returned instead, a licentious grin lacing his lips. Sebastian stirred once more, and the earl could feel his discontent spiking the air.

            “Is that agreeable?” Ciel reiterated instead. He didn’t like the concept of using his body as future payment, but he wasn’t above doing so, either. He was more surprised by his butler’s visceral reaction than disgusted at the businessman’s words.

 _‘How curious,’_ he thought with a small furrow of his brow. _‘Now why should Sebastian care what I do? Perhaps he just doesn’t like people touching what he deems as ‘his’.’_

            Lau gave his assent and they struck the deal, a mere understanding that reneging on either side would lead to grievous injury both physical and economical.

            Sebastian took the tray and held it aloft to his master, letting him parse through the information at will. The first were the eye witness reports. There were a surprising number providing the time of night the incident had occurred. They mostly read the same, detailing how they had been going about their evening routines when they’d seen a blaze or smelled smoke. All recounted how quickly the fire had spread, and how curious it was that it seemed contained to the factory alone, never spreading to surrounding buildings.

 _‘Well that’s not suspicious,’_ Ciel grumbled, turning instead to the police’s survey of the scene. This ran in parallel with the witness’ statements, noting that the fire seemed to start from the top of the building and work its way down with surprising rapidity. This then meant that the workers had some manner of time to escape – at least those on the lower levels. Others, however, had been caught by the sudden inferno and subsequent collapse of the roof.

            Ciel winced at the implications, turning the page to read the formal write up. Frowning, he reread the report. “No known accelerants were found at the scene,” he read aloud, shooting Sebastian a look. The demon’s eyes narrowed and that was enough to tell his master that the fire had been magical in nature. Ciel had seen on many occasions how his butler could conjure a blazing maelstrom from a single candle, or, temper permitting, from nothing at all.

            “This is proof, then?” he muttered.

            “Seemingly so,” Sebastian nodded tersely. “Although it doesn’t illuminate the arsonist themselves.”

            “Look here, though,” Ciel countered, tapping at the description of the damage. “If the fire started from the top of the building, that can only mean one of two things: that the arsonist was inside the factory at the time of the burning or that they set fire to it from above.”

            “It’s not likely they were inside,” the demon frowned, turning his head to examine the document. “If it caught on that quickly, then they would have had to have been both incredibly fast and incredibly well disguised to escape and not have suspicion pinned on them. Someone would have remembered a thing like that.”

            “Right,” the earl nodded. “Which can only mean that they set fire to the factory from _above_. Except…” he looked to the demon for confirmation. “A succubus can’t fly, can she? Even jumping up the side of the building…?”

            “No,” the butler confirmed. “Neither incubi nor succubae have powers of flight, even if they are depicted with bat wings and the like. Popular fancy.”

            “So then…” Ciel heaved a sigh. The details only seemed to get murkier and further from reach. Shaking his head he turned to the morgue documents detailing the victims. All had burned to death, or had asphyxiated on the smoke and passed out prior to being burned. Their injuries suggested that the fire had been natural – how little did the mortician, some man by the name of Eugene Fehr, know – and that they had burned quickly but evenly, no better or worse than could be expected. What was more, none of the victims showed evidence of pre- or post-mortem wounds, suggesting that they had no inkling of the danger they faced until the fire had engulfed them.

            “Dead end,” the earl groaned.

            “Not quite, young master,” Sebastian disagreed quietly. “Remember we have a new lead,” he said, tapping to the piece about the origin point of the fire. “There’s only a scant number of creatures who have this ability: now it’s just a matter of finding the right one.”

            Ciel nodded quietly, biting his lip. The words were true, but he couldn’t help but feel that they were only getting farther from the truth.

**Xxxxxxxxxx**

_3 October 1893_

_Your Majesty:_

_I write now to detail the progress of the investigation surrounding the factory fires. As you inevitably know, a second case of arson has occurred at the Funtom perfumery factory in Harlesden. I have already looked into the details of this second incident and – alongside information I have gleaned on the circumstances of the first fire – ascertained that_

Ciel paused, pen nib poised carefully along the page, ready to compose the next word. At this point, it was beyond clear that the arson cases were of a personal vendetta and highlighting this could potentially weaken his chances of regaining his former position as Watchdog. Doubtless that the Queen would be wary to reappoint someone with a myriad of enemies breathing down his neck.

In all, he was uncertain whether he should report what little progress he had made in the case; the majority of what he had learned was steeped in the dealings of the supernatural. He did not know how much the Queen was aware of the paranormal despite his suspicions of her having some idea about the existence of the shadow world via Iris and Sieglinde. As such, he could not figure how to phrase the report without appearing to be a complete loon; the last thing he needed was to become a Bedlamite.

Ciel set down his pen and propped his forehead up in his hand. He’d been staving off a headache since his visit to Anagura and the pounding in his head coupled with a sudden onset of untimely exhaustion encouraged him to abandon the task and bed down early for the night. However, an earlier promise caused him to push the letter to the Queen aside and take up a fresh piece of parchment.

_3 October 1893_

_Dearest Lizzy,_

_I have arrived safely at the townhome alongside Souma and Sieglinde. The latter has chosen to attend my side over concern for my well-being. Both send their warmest regards._

Ciel winced, not wanting to upset his cousin by making her concerned over his health or feeling left out of the social circle. But he simply could not bring himself to lie to her, not after how sweetly she’d continued to treat him for years despite his foul behavior towards her and his bouts of spleen. They were, after all, cousins and – despite everything – friends. It would be harder to shoulder the burdens alone than to let himself seek solace in others’ recommendations. Perhaps Elizabeth would prove to be a helpful extra set of eyes, just as Sieglinde had been.

            _I am afraid that my investigation in the factory fires point towards foul play – in particular, a personal vendetta against myself._

            Moreso to Sebastian, but Ciel was implicated as a result. The earl had long since decided it would be too messy to involve Lizzy in supernatural affairs; although he supposed her friendship with Sieglinde gave her much more insight into those dealings than she let on.

            _As such, I find myself vexed. I am uncertain on how to report this to Her Majesty. Doubtless she already has figured as much and I am –_

‘ _Afraid_ ,’ Ciel thought with some bitterness, taking pause to reassess his word choice.

            – _concerned that this will reflect negatively on myself as a candidate for reappointment to the position of Watchdog. As such, I would like to reach out to you for a recommendation on how to proceed. You are well-versed in social etiquette and would undoubtedly have a suggestion on how to properly progress. Do you think it would be wise of me to hold off on reports until I have gleaned additional information? I must profess that I have not made too much headway, and perhaps producing a report at this time would seem unprofessional._

There. That was enough to keep Lizzy involved – just adequate to prevent her from feeling entirely left out, but little enough to keep her safe from the trouble unfolding.

            _How are you spending your time? I hope that you’ve found ways to keep yourself busy – your mother and sister-in-law seem rather taken with Jane Austen’s works as of late. Perhaps the three of you are reading one of her novels together? I hope for the best health of your family, please send them my well-wishes. Hopefully we will see one another in the near future for Christmas and the New Year._

_Sincerely,_

_Ciel Phantomhive_

            Pleased, Ciel folded the letter and slid it into an envelope, addressing it, sealing it, and setting it aside on his desk to be taken to the post in the morning. Although he was still feeling the headache pounding behind his eyes and the siren’s call of his bed, Ciel allowed social conventions to get the better of him and set off to the parlor.

            Within, Sieglinde and Souma were kneeling on opposing sides of the coffee table, a little ball of wool placed upon its surface. The two were blowing air fiercely at it in attempts to knock it off their opponent’s side of the table. It was a trivial parlor game Ciel had enjoyed as a child, but as an adult it held little appeal to him, especially in consideration to the ridiculous puffed cheeks and red faces it resulted in.

           His two friends were so intensely enraptured in their game that they gave no heed to Ciel upon his entrance, allowing him to retire to the couch beside the sleeping form of Nicky. The earl collapsed upon the cushions with as much grace as he could muster – which, being in such an exhausted state, wasn’t much – and began to stroke the Spitz idly. Moments later, Souma cheered triumphantly and Sieglinde swore in German, picking up the little ball of wool from beside her and thumping it back on the table.

            “Best two out of three!” she challenged. Souma laughed and wagged his finger at her chidingly.

            “Ah, ah! There’s no need to be a sore loser!” he declared, causing Sieglinde to puff out her cheeks in frustration. The prince turned his attention onto Ciel. “Besides, we have to try to entertain this petulant earl, and you know he hates nothing more than parlor games.”

            “‘Hates parlor games’?” Ciel echoed, abandoning Nicky’s fur in favor of rubbing his sore temples. “You lot really think I’m some embittered old man, don’t you?”

            “What was the name of that candy?” Sieglinde posed suddenly, much to Ciel’s befuddlement.

            “Candy?” he responded, taken aback. “What does candy have to do with anything?”

            “In the story – the one with the old man and the ghosts on Christmas,” Sieglinde snapped her fingers, the light coming to her eyes. “Humbug!”

           “Bah, humbug!” Souma responded instantly, scrunching his face into an approximation of a grumpy old man.           

            “Are you calling me Ebenzer Scrooge because I’ve a headache?” Ciel quipped incredulously, sitting up and scowling at his friends as they shared amused looks. He instantly regretted it as Souma’s face fell in disproportionate worry.

            “A headache! Oh Ciel, you should have told us!” he declared, hands grasped into earnest fists in front of him. “You ought to be in bed recovering!”

            “I’ll have Iris prepare some peppermint tea.” Sieglinde responded; she did not look as worried as Souma, but her mocking façade had instantly evaporated. Ciel waved his hands, frustrated at their sudden surge of concern.

            “I’m fine!” he insisted a little roughly, but it was too late. Sieglinde had already stood and picked up her crutches, leaving the parlor to call on Iris. With a groan, Ciel settled back into the pillows. Souma instantly sat beside him, inquiring over whether he could do anything for his friend.

            Within moments, Sieglinde had returned with Iris on her heels; the maid set out a tea platter with a kettle of steeping tea upon it. She turned to Ciel, removing a little sachet from her pocket and handing it off to him: it was made of white silk and smelled refreshingly of lavender.

            “The lady finds that it helps with headaches and nausea,” she explained, placing a little purple stone in his palm alongside it. “She wanted you to have this as well.”

            “It’s amethyst.” Sieglinde explained, “That should also help with the headache.”

            Ciel pocketed the stone, thanking his friend – he was uncertain of the validity of the herb and stone’s healing properties, but the kind notion behind them was enough to prevent any scathing remarks.

            Once the tea had finished steeping and Iris had arranged them all a cup, the three made themselves comfortable and set about discussing the fires. In truth, it was the farthest thing from Ciel’s desires – for once, he was aching for a change in conversation, and would have been more than content with listening in on the two discuss their studies, or even their religious practices while he rested.

            “I hope it isn’t considered rude,” Souma posed, hedging. “But I think this might be an opportune time to propose a partnership?”

            “Partnership?” Ciel quipped, leaning out of the cup of his hand, which had previously obscured his eyes. Souma nodded, looking at his best friend earnestly while Sieglinde stared on curiously.

            “Yes. Ciel, I’m interested in working with you,” Souma confessed. “Especially in the wake of the fires. Even though you’ve made improvements in the working conditions, there’s bound to be a few people who’ll be more than willing to use this as ammunition against you.”

            “Indeed,” Ciel agreed. “But where does this lend in to a partnership?”

            “I’d be looking to make Funtom the universal ideal in fair employment and safe working conditions,” Souma explained earnestly, and the determined set of his brow coupled with the serious slant of his mouth set him miles apart from the starry-eyed youth Ciel had met almost six years earlier. “I think that this would be an opportune time to make the complete overhaul.”

            “Yes, but that would just make it appear as if I’m saving face,” Ciel countered with a frown. “You know better than anyone the lengths I’ve gone to promote safe working conditions.”

            “Yes, but what about _payment_?” Souma pressed, “Fair wages? Fair hours? Just because the conditions are safe doesn’t mean the employees aren’t getting worked to the bone for pennies a day.”

            Ciel winced, balking at the idea. “Do you know how much of a hit my company would take financially—.”

            Souma shook his head, hissing a little. “It’s all about the money with the robber barons, isn’t it?”

            “Robber barons!” the earl cried, taken aback by the term.

            “Ciel, you’re steeped in money! By directing a little more revenue towards the factory workers, think of the progress you’ll make in stimulating the economy,” Souma pointed out. “More money in the general populace means demand for more products. Not only that, but demand for better living conditions as a result – think of the people who will need to be employed for the construction!”

            “Not to mention,” Sieglinde mused, propping her chin up on her palm. “Competitors will be forced to raise their employee’s wages as well, further stimulating the economy. Factory conditions could begin to improve alongside Funtom’s shining example,” she quirked an eyebrow at Ciel. “Think of how impressive this will look to the Crown.”

            Although he was still reeling in the face of Souma’s earlier insult and lost in his progressive economical ideas, Ciel’s interest was caught by Sieglinde’s promising words. As soon as Souma noticed the shift in the earl’s demeanor, he heaved a sigh and leaned back into the couch.         

            “Really, all you think about is how to get yourself forward in life,” he huffed.

            “Well, who wouldn’t want to?” the earl returned evenly, “I’d rather leave my mark in my business success than in infamy for squandering away all my money in philanthropic attempts to improve the socio-economic climate. We are defined by our accomplishments, after all.”

            “‘Defined by our accomplishments.’ That’s flawed thinking, _meine freund_ ,” Sieglinde countered, ever playing devil’s advocate. “Certainly you may attempt to set out to do well by yourself – ‘leaving your mark in your business success’, as you just said,” she held out a contemplative finger. “But aren’t we as equally defined by our failings? Unlike accomplishments, they’re never the intended outcome.”

            “Then it’s our actions that define us,” Souma settled. “I – for one – would rather be known for _attempting_ to make a positive change than for making money.”

            “Well, that’s good on you but most of us have more business sense than that,” Ciel sniped in return, still seething over the earlier ‘robber baron’ comment. Sensing his growing ire, the two others were silent for a moment before Sieglinde spoke up in an attempt to direct the conversation towards less touchy territory.

            “But what you said about our actions that define us – that’s interesting,” Sieglinde hummed. “It’s a very simple concept, but one many people don’t put a lot of thought into. How far does that extend, do you think?” She picked up Nicky, who produced a sleepy little _whuff_ as he was rearranged in her lap. “Are we defined by the way our actions reflect upon ourselves or upon others?”

            “Upon others,” Ciel answered instantly. “You could hate yourself for all you care, but as long as your actions mean something to others—.”

            “But you’re negating what you just said!” Souma interjected, “You were _just_ saying you couldn’t care less about your impact on society as long as you were getting ahead personally.”

            “You’re twisting my words!” Ciel countered, “That is certainly not what I said! I said we are defined by our accomplishments –.”

            “And who better to benefit from your accomplishments than you, personally?” Souma smirked, quirking an eyebrow. Sieglinde nodded in agreement as if to say ‘he has a point’, but her face clouded over in consideration a moment later.

            “Well, what about your estate?” she queried, touching her fingertips to her lips. “Your family? You certainly would want to ensure a good life for your progeny.”

            “Yes, but Ciel doesn’t _want_ babies,” Souma heaved a sigh as if this were some great personal distress.

            “That’s really none of your business!” Ciel snapped for what felt like the umpteenth time. He could not understand other people’s fascination with his decision not to reproduce – especially Souma, who felt as if he were being slighted out of becoming an uncle. The conversation had trekked back into irritating territory and if Ciel attempted to uphold social convention any longer, he feared that the headache would make him sick to his stomach. Standing, he brusquely excused himself for the night, ignoring Souma’s apologies and Sieglinde’s well-wishes for a good night’s sleep.

            He immediately retired to his closet and dressed himself for the night, keeping hold of the handkerchief that Sebastian had gifted him earlier. Groaning, Ciel cupped his temple in his hands, hoping some cool water on his skin would help to ease the headache. He abandoned his closet for the bathroom and took a moment to observe himself in the mirror.

            He certainly did look as badly as he felt, and Souma’s earlier concern was beginning to make a little more sense. There were terrible bruise-like sweeps of purple beneath his eyes, highlighted against the pallor of his skin that had begun to rival that of Undertaker.

            With a heavy sigh that left his shoulders aching, Ciel filled his water basin and dipped the handkerchief into the cool water, folding the cloth and pressing it against the bridge of his nose. The cool water only seemed to heighten the keening pressure of his headache and he dropped the fabric beside the basin. Ciel glanced back into his reflection, brushing away a strand of damp hair plastered to his face.

            “Young master is as charming as ever.”

            Ciel nearly jumped from the sudden appearance of his servant in the doorway. Sebastian stepped into the room and placed his bare fingertips to the lip of the basin and the water within immediately began to ripple and steam. Ciel’s eyes fell to the matte tattoo still branding Sebastian’s hand – it had been some time since he’d seen his butler’s hand bare, and the memory of its last appearance made him blush.

            Sebastian dipped the handkerchief into the water and folded it as Ciel had just done, pressing it to the bridge of his nose. This time, the effect was soothing and Ciel closed his eyes and let himself lean his head back in relief. To his surprise, cool fingers encircled his wrist. Ciel’s eyes snapped open, peering into Sebastian’s imploring ones as the butler gave him a very gentle tug and led him back into the bedroom where his bed was waiting with turned-down covers.

            Ciel had never been so happy to see a bed in his life.

            Still tilting his head back to keep the warm cloth in place, Ciel climbed on to the soft mattress, feeling his aches ebb away with each sigh. Sebastian covered him with the plush covers, removing the handkerchief for a moment to replenish it with hot water. By the time he’d returned to the room, Ciel had already drifted into a deep sleep.

            For a moment, the butler stood and watched his charge rest, chest rising and falling in slow, content sighs. Hesitantly, he approached and dabbed at his master’s pale face and tender under-eyes as if he could wipe the dark stains of illness and exhaustion away. He was just as guilty to have put them there himself. For a moment, his hand fluttered over Ciel’s cheek in an attempt at a caress that was quickly aborted. But before he could withdraw, Ciel’s hand slid up the back of his hand, over the covenant mark.

            “Sebastian,” he inquired sleepily, eyes never bothering to flutter open. “Are we defined by our actions in relations to ourselves or to others?”

            The demon blinked, taken aback by the sleepy inquiry. “Well,” he began hesitantly. “I’d like to believe that it is both. We should do right by ourselves, however—,” he paused, eyes flickering over the earl’s midsection, hidden beneath the dense covers. “It is inevitable that there are going to be those who our actions directly implicate. Despite one’s desire to define themselves subjectively, there’s always going to be an innate desire to take others’ views into consideration when forming a definition of oneself.”

            Ciel did not respond, but smiled sleepily as if this response pleased him.


	8. Aconitum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I AM SO SORRY I FORGOT TO UPDATE THIS ON THURSDAY KFSJDA;K I totally lost track of when I was supposed to update because I'd updated off-schedule for a few weeks and I've been busy with graduation and trips and etc etc wow okay uh

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Eight**

**Aconitum**

_“How dreadful it is, to emerge from the oblivion of slumber, and to receive as a good morrow the mute wailing of one's own hapless heart — to return from the land of deceptive dreams to the heavy knowledge of unchanged disaster!”_

– Mary Shelley

            There was little use that Maeve found in Cosette, and the chief of those was access to her pet harpy. After that came the brunette’s expansive social network, and last of all her precise knowledge of otherwise forgettable facts. Were it not for such qualities Maeve would have found her companion totally worthless and expendable. It thus made her all the more chagrined when she actually had to beseech the other’s help.

            Despite their bickering on the fate of the harpy, Maeve had broken down and allowed the brunette to accompany it to its next attack. The caveat being that Cosette knew of a mirror in the vicinity that would link to the reaper’s world and Maeve – regrettably – would have to rely on her to get there. The blonde couldn’t help but think it was a surprisingly clever ploy on Cosette’s account: surely there were mirrors closer than Brimsdown that she could make use of; the other succubus was just keeping it close to the vest in order to get her way.

            So they had set out by carriage, giving the harpy plenty of time to stretch its wings and circle the perimeter of London. It was intelligent enough to avoid detection – perhaps more of a survival instinct than anything – and had a knack for finding the best positions to attack from. But Maeve wasn’t keen to give the creature more credit than was due: it was just a beast, after all.

            Drawing short a few blocks from the factory, Kiran helped them from the coach, offering his hand to each lady in turn. He wished them a good night, seemingly eager to see to his own evening affairs. “Off to fuck that dog, I imagine,” Maeve snorted once he was out of sight.

            “Dog?” Cosette hummed curiously. The butler had mentioned something about a dog before, but she hadn’t been in the sorts to puzzle it out at the time.

            “A cù sìth,” the blonde explained impatiently. “They’ve been shagging ever since I took him to Shayla’s. Figures. Aos sí,” she snorted derogatively.

            _‘What does some dirty fae have on me?’_ Cosette thought acidly. But her companion was already walking ahead without her and she rushed to keep up. Honestly, her skirts would get dirty if she had to bustle around like that. She pet the grey fabric lightly. It was plain, far plainer than what she was accustomed to, but Maeve had insisted that they had to appear unremarkable if they were to be so close to their crime.

            As if Maeve even had the capacity to appear plain. Bitterness twisted at Cosette’s lips. Maeve was as close to a best friend as she had, but her own insecurities made her heart twist venomously. Parts of her truly hated the other woman: her effortless allure, her youth, her ability to bark orders and have them followed. She knew there was no resisting the blonde. No amount of years or squabbling would upend the dynamic of their friendship: Maeve was simply too powerful.

            They rounded a corner and the factory came into sight. “Press on,” the blonde instructed under her breath. They hurried along the street, shooting glances at the building as its chimneys puffed lightly. Soon it would be utterly engulfed in smoke. Maeve’s lips curled into a smile at the thought.

            Directing them to a safe vantage point and finding no one along the street to notice them, she turned, looking back in the direction of the manufactory. Barely silhouetted by the light of the waning half moon she could make out the beating of a pair of gigantic black wings. Cosette’s breath caught in her throat and Maeve had to forcibly keep herself from making a snide comment.

            What the brunette’s fascination was with the creature was beyond her understanding. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the other succubus couldn’t make anyone love her and that the harpy – shown little itself – soaked up her attentions needily. It seemed to crave her affections when no one else would: ironic that it was the monstrous child of Cosette’s first disastrous attempt at love.

            The harpy began to descend, still obscured to the human eye against the inky backdrop of night. The succubae watched in rapt attention as a pinprick of light began to glow atop the factory’s roof, flickering and growing brighter and bigger. Quickly, the fire began to spread, crawling down the side of the building and licking up the stacks of the chimneys.

            With each beat of the harpy’s wings the flames grew larger, faster. With each synchronized heart beat the manufactory became engulfed, alerting the workers within. There was an audible ruckus and the people within began to flee, calling to one another to get to safety. It wouldn’t matter.

            A creak of metal and timber and the roof began to sag, ushering forth more screams of terror. Maeve shivered in anticipation. Next to sex there was nothing that made her feel more alive than the sounds of fear and agony. She looked slyly over to her companion, who looked a lot less thrilled. Cosette was soft, not liking to incur more deaths than were strictly necessary. A funny trait for a serial killer.

            She was petulant and capricious, acting on emotional impulse most of the time. It was Maeve who organized the premeditated strikes, planned against her opponents as if they were locked in a strategic game of chess. She drew pleasure from gaining power, Cosette from getting what she wanted. It was little surprise that attacking innocent people didn’t suit the brunette, particularly when it gained her nothing in return.

 _‘Such a pain,’_ Maeve thought to herself, watching as the blaze eclipsed the upper half of the building. _‘Her egoism and obsessive love of that monstrous bird will surely trip us up one day. Should she prove too much of a liability, I suppose I’ll have no choice but to kill her.’_

            She shot her companion a spiteful look, bemoaning the fact that the woman still proved useful. _‘Your time will run out soon enough,’_ she threatened internally.

            “Take me to the mirror,” she commanded instead, nudging the brunette’s shoulder. Wide grey eyes turned up to blink at her.

            “So soon?” she asked innocently. The roof of the factory collapsed with a boom behind her and the yelling intensified.

            “Before we’re seen,” Maeve seethed. Sometimes the other woman could be so dull.

            “Alright,” Cosette relented, casting a worried glance back to where the harpy still hovered. The blonde tugged at her shoulder coldly, redirecting her attentions. Cosette pursed her lips in annoyance but said nothing more as she began to lead them through the streets.

            It was harder to define where she wanted to go in the dark; despite her improved senses the scene looked entirely different than it did in the day. Carefully she navigated a few streets over, trailing along the road as she examined each and every shop sign. “Here!” she announced at last, drawing short before a millinery.

            The door was shut fast and the displays in the front showcased brilliant hats for both men and ladies, terribly fashionable and highly priced. Maeve smirked to herself as she recognized the materials, feathers gathered from a host of otherworldly creatures: phoenixes, griffins, and pegasi. These were arranged into charming plumes, accented by flowers or veils and secured with little gems.

            “What are they?” she asked aloud, indicating to the door. She knew of many supernaturals in the vicinity of London, but she had yet to hear of the talented hatter.

            “A gancanagh,” Cosette returned proudly. “Don’t hear of them too often, do you?”

            “Not hardly. He’d make good friends with Shayla if he isn’t already.”

            “I should think. And he seems to harbor affection for human men, too.”

            “How distasteful. What has he to gain from that?”

            “Well he is a fairy: it must be much harder to find shepherdesses and milkmaids in this era. It’s no wonder he’d want to sample the lot.”

            “No matter, how do I gain entrance to his shop? The mirror must be in the back, I take it? I can’t see it through the windows.”

            “The very back,” Cosette confirmed. “It’s in his workshop, see? He’s almost always back there so it’s hard for anyone to sneak in and use it.”

            “Unless they come at night,” Maeve finished.

            “Precisely,” the brunette nodded. “I have a key, of course,” she smiled slyly. Pawing in the pockets of her walking jacket she produced the instrument, shining silver and skeleton thin. “The original was much prettier,” she admitted. “It had rubies and amethysts and all sorts of golden inlay. The milliner gives copies to all of his trusted friends. I lifted one off of a banshee I know. Took it long enough to have a copy done up and returned it before she even knew it was gone. Her folly for mentioning the thing in the first place.”

            “Did she also tell you where this mirror transfers to?” Maeve queried, taking the key in her hands. She approached the shopfront and slid it into the lock, breathing a small sigh of relief when she heard the bolt slide free.

            “No,” the brunette bit her lip. “But it should take you to Mirror Side all the same. Good thing these worlds are linked,” she laughed nervously. “Their headquarters are located in their version of London, after all. The mirror should lead right there.”

            “I know that,” the taller bit back. “I just appreciate preparedness,” she gestured to the cloak about her shoulders. It was used seldom, a distracting fabric that stunk of reaper-scent and masked her own entirely. In her past experiences it had kept her true race anonymous even in the presence of other reapers. Certainly it would come in handy for what she had planned.

            “Best of luck!” Cosette cheered.

            Maeve suppressed a tired eye roll. “Go home, Cosette,” she ordered bluntly. The other wilted and nodded obediently, turning to disappear down the road. With a sigh, Maeve entered the shop, wincing at the jingle of bells attached to the front door. Shutting it quickly and locking it behind her, she deposited the key into a small pouch hidden beneath the bodice of her dress.

            The shop was navigable enough and she quickly made her way to the back, testing doors until she found the workshop. Unlike the others, this one swung open freely, a clear indicator of the gancanagh’s promise to his friends to visit at will. “Foolish man,” the succubus snickered aloud.

            In the corner of the room, propped up unceremoniously against a few crates, was a gigantic gilded mirror. Its surface was dusty as if it hadn’t been used for practical purposes in quite a while. Maeve knew better, however.

            Approaching it, she blew across the surface, disturbing the fine layer of grit and exposing the shiny surface beneath. Recalling the proper sigil, Maeve traced the design across the face, a foreign warmth surging into her fingers as she finished. Focusing her energy she pressed a palm to the cool glass, feeling the mirror ripple beneath her touch. It was an unusual sensation and not entirely pleasant. A shiver coursed through her as she pressed further, allowing her arm to disappear through the surface up to her elbow.

            She despised traveling in this way: perfected by reapers, the mirror system was lined up perfectly across the globe, one mirror being linked purposefully with another, the precise heights of their hanging matching exactly so as not to cause any harm to the traveler. It had to be onerous to set up properly, but Maeve only cared about her destination, paying the craftsmanship little mind.

            She hated not knowing where she would end up: reapers kept the connections close to the vest and even her own extensive network of intel couldn’t divine for her the map to the other world. Ideally she would land straight in the middle of headquarters, but the chances were slim and she could wind up quite literally on the other side of the globe were she not careful. But Cosette had promised that this particular mirror would link to the other London, and, with no other choice, Maeve had to trust her word on the matter.

            Holding her breath she stepped forward, instantly feeling like ice had been poured down her back. Closing her eyes she stepped fully through, instantly relieved to hear the bustle of people and carriages in the crisp night air. She had arrived in the world known colloquially as “Mirror Side”, where the reapers called home. Much like the fair folk and their ley lines that lead to the world of the fae, the reapers had their mirrors and their strange little version of human Earth. Similar to London though it may be, the reaper equivalent was hardly normal.

            Buildings rose four and five stories into the air, crammed together like shy ladies — cobblestone paths dove beneath artificial bridges lined in black wrought iron. Children sprinted out of underground portals, dashing past the darkly-colored buildings that sported stained glass as well as deeply-colored stones and woods. Horseless buggies lacquered black as night tipped and rocked over the perforated paths, dodging villagers with as much nimbleness as a human.

            Directly across from where Maeve stood a dark tower jutted into the sky higher than the rest of the buildings, a silver bell gleaming at its peak. Black spires rose around it, congregating lower in the form of a massive, black church. Finely-dressed people poured into the heart of the town from its door, tiny as toys from her vantage point.

            While odd to see so much commotion at night in the human world, it was hardly unusual in the reaper’s own. Like most of the supernaturals about them, the soul collectors were most alive in the evening hours, preferring a more nocturnal schedule when it could be afforded. This accounted for many humans “upstairs” being reaped in the dark of night or early light of morning. Somehow the mortal populace hadn’t seemed to take notice.

            Maeve shook herself, attempting to get accustomed to the strange environs and the heady scent of reaper. Trying to get her bearings, she searched about for a means of getting around. She didn’t have to know the layout of the city, after all – not so long as she could find a decent cabby.

            As she stepped out of the unusual alley – its bricked surface lined with oddly shaped mirrors – she turned to examine the building she had seemingly emerged from. It appeared to be a grand hotel, proud flags and banners whipping in the wind against grand white columns. Before the building was a small roundabout which encased a circular fountain that bubbled happily, several horseless carriages resting around it, each manned by a smoking cabby.

            Pleased by her stroke of luck, the succubus advanced, pulling the cloak around her shoulders tightly in a small fit of nerves. It wasn’t like her to be so perturbed, but with the nature of her visit she knew the consequences for being caught could be severe – not just for herself, but for the whole of relations between Mirror Side and Hell.

            The last time such a dispute had occurred the reapers had picketed her home altogether, refusing to send even the souls of the damned downstairs. This led to angry incubi and starving demons. Needless to say, the Seven Crown Princes had gotten personally involved and things had grown messy, leading to demonic attacks on reapers with the soul collectors enslaving their assailants in turn. With no Lord Death in power, the situation had quickly soured and a lasting tension remained between the two races.

            Walking quickly to the roundabout she ushered her needs to the nearest cabby, flashing him a coin purse in reassurance. Needing little persuasion, he helped her into the coach and hopped back upon the box, snapping his whip to horses that weren’t there. Maeve spent the ride in quiet contemplation of the phenomenon. It bothered her greatly that she couldn’t see the creatures leading the vehicle, making her wonder altogether how the cabby kept from crashing. “Must be pùca or something,” she settled. For such a driven woman, she was determined to keep her mind from her next order of business, fearing her nerves would make her clumsy.

            When they arrived outside the intended building she paid the driver and waited for him to depart before pressing onward. Tall gold lettering read “Reaper Headquarter Library of Europe | The United Kingdom.” A shiver of anticipation coursed through the succubus. She’d never stepped foot inside the contract library before, but she’d dreamed of tampering with the many files for many years of her rather long life.

            Slinking around the side of the building she made sure she was utterly out of sight. There was no way she could waltz through the front doors, after all. Even smelling like a reaper she would need various levels of authentication to enter: a pass card bearing a name recognized by the system, for one, and the ability to sign her name in a ledger with her own blood as ink. That was the most prominent measure, as the scent of her race would give her away despite her clever disguise.

            Finding a rear window she extended a claw, willing it to sharpen as if preparing for battle. With a painful screech of glass, she drew her nail across the surface, creating a little circle right above the latch. Finished, she popped the piece out, reaching through the small hole and fiddling with the latch. It swung free and Maeve quietly eased herself through, vaulting over a small desk to land with a muted sound on the carpet below.

            Dusting off her skirts absently, she gazed about her surroundings. She appeared to be in the back section of the library, cluttered, yet still impressive. Old paintings of famous reapers sat dustily in their frames amid messy desks and boxes full of old receipts and registers. The back petered out into a little hallway, a door at the end demarcating the private from public zones.

            Making her way forward she entered the main-most room, obvious with its vaulted nine meter ceilings and crowded shelves that necessitated a sliding ladder. It was overwhelming how many books there were: those that couldn’t fit among the numerous cases were piled up in heaps along the floor, some so tall that they obscured a good section of the shelves behind them. Brimming with excitement, she ran a finger along the spines, grinning as she felt the magic of the covenants inside the many pages.

            They were all contract books, after all. Reaching back thousands of years they documented every pact and negotiation between humans and supernatural beings – chiefly demons, she acknowledged. Herein the dealings of mankind were made tangible, appearing on the pages magically as if penned and signed in person. Maeve had never been sure how this worked, knowing only that the reapers alone knew how to manufacture the blank books with their magic paper, stitching them together by hand and binding them for the library shelves.

            The empty books sat in their own section of the library and they were periodically checked for new entries, being moved to the main part of the contract section when necessary. The arrangement begged Maeve to steal a few: the power she could have and the trouble she could wreak with those blank pages on her hands was insurmountable. If she pulled the right strings, she could wind herself a cushy position in Hell, far better than the one she enjoyed already. As it was, contracts could be made between two supernaturals, even if it wasn’t a common practice.

            Maeve chuckled quietly, thinking how those she knew would react if they were aware of what she was about to do. A covenant between a succubus and a Hell demon – how scandalous. What more, with the succubus being the one to choose her reward!

            She already knew how she wanted the new contract worded. As the contractor she had the pick of three options to harvest from her contractee: the mind, the body, or the soul. The prize could be collected by her at any time – so long as the contractee’s needs were met – with some conditions being more permanent than the others.

            Taking the mind meant that she could put “Sebastian” under her will without question. She could use their bond to order him, but with power over his mind he would be helpless to disobey or resist any command.

            Should she choose body, she would copulate with him, claiming him as her mate and bonding their very existences for the remainder of both their lives. No matter how little she cared for the demon, should she mate him his death would prove near unbearable to her and she would never feel quite the same.

            Then there was the option of the soul, the choice that the demon had taken with his earl. Taking ownership of one’s soul didn’t kill them; merely it made them husks of their former selves, completely emotionless and vacant. In this manner it was the cruelest option, highlighted all the more by the fact that demons usually consumed the souls of their contractees, making it impossible for them to revive to their former selves.

            She found it strange – and incredibly unwise – that the demon had yet to claim the soul of the earl he worked for. The indignation he must suffer of being lowered to the role of a mere butler – no, a _servant_ – had to chafe. What a Hell prince was doing playing pretend was more than Maeve could understand. Were it her, she would have completed the brat’s demands and devoured his soul before he had the chance to fight back.

            Of these choices she selected taking the demon’s mind: it would serve her the best, after all, and allow her the freedom of turning the man against those he seemed to cherish most. It was all too fun, she decided. Perhaps she would have her new pet rip the child from the womb of his own master. How delicious would that torment be?

            With a smirk she located the sole librarian on staff, a thin man with curly brown hair and slender black glasses. It was a commonality with reapers, their eyesight going poor in response to the massive amount of reading they conducted in their everyday jobs.

            Positioning herself just so, she padded up noiselessly behind him, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck only to lean forward smilingly into his line of vision. “Could you do me a favor?” she asked sweetly as the man began to gasp and kick. “And _don’t_ even think about calling for help.”

            The reaper stilled, chartreuse eyes wide and frightened. It did Maeve well to see that look in a creature she despised so much. “Good,” she praised mockingly. “Now I need you to find me a particular contract. One under the name of ‘Ciel Phantomhive’,” she instructed, choosing to list under the human in question. She didn’t want to waste her precious time in concealment on a hunch: she was nearly positive she knew the demon butler’s true name, but she needed further evidence to confirm it.

            Slowly releasing her hold on the man’s neck she sat back on her heels and watched him. Frozen in terror, he blinked stupidly, trying to regain his suddenly quick breath. “R-right this way, ma’am,” he intoned softly, understanding his danger.

            It must have been strange, Maeve realized mirthfully, to have what appeared to be a reaper turning against their own kind. Any of their race could enter the library. Perhaps not the main contract section, however: that was reserved for those under employment at the headquarters who actively reaped for a job. Their clearance level was above the ordinary citizen, but by and large they were faithful creatures that relied heavily upon one another. The apparent sudden treachery had to induce more fear than a succubus alone could have produced.

            The man stopped short at a particular stack, clearly familiar with the contents as the shelves weren’t labeled in any sensible sort of way. With quivering hands he extracted a crimson volume, brushing open its front cover and presenting the opening page to the disguised blonde. A fanged grin broke her expression at the sight. There, below the words decreeing their exchange of power for a soul was the name she most wanted to see: that of the demon who paraded about as a butler.

            “That will do,” she hissed excitedly. “Now you’ve one more thing to do and then we can pretend this exchange never happened, hmn?”

            The reaper gulped and nodded obsequiously, his intent to live far outreaching his loyalty to his post. “Wh-what can I help you with this evening?” he asked, trying to maintain polite composure.

            “I need a new contract to be forged.”

            “Ma’am?”

            “Yes, without the other party’s awareness,” she snapped obviously. “Otherwise I’d have struck it myself.”

            The reaper paled further, understanding how incredibly illegal and immoral the request was. To implicate an unwitting individual was as taboo as it went for his kind: always the keepers of fairness and peace, their job was to watch over the souls of their region and guide them toward their final resting place.

            Shakily the librarian redirected them, feeling Maeve’s eyes bore through his back with every step. Jangling his ring of keys he unlocked a glass display, exhaling audibly as he slipped a book with a fresh spine from the case.

            “You’ll need the blood of the contractee to finalize this, ma’am,” he explained kindly, trying desperately to avoid her gaze.

            “I know,” she bit back hurriedly. The process was taking far longer than she cared for. “It’s the only way to legalize these sorts of one-sided contracts.”

            The reaper laughed nervously and nodded, spreading the blank book out over a desk and sitting down gracelessly. Pulling out a fountain pen and wetting its nib, he began to scribble out the beginning of the contract, unused to having to create one by hand. He paused to ask for Maeve’s full name and her true race – were she to use the Anglicized version of her surname the contract wouldn’t have effect. Then he inquired after the name of the contractee, and when the blonde recited it as she’d seen in the previous book, the reaper looked ready to pass out.

            And what shall be the terms, ma’am?” he implored. “What will you be taking and what will you be willing to give in return?”

            Maeve had thought her options through numerous times over, not really wanting to provide the demon anything and yet not finding her solutions good enough. At last she’d settled on something that even a Hell prince would find equitable. “The support of my coven in the upcoming elections for King of Hell,” she answered with a smirk. “And I will be taking his mind, if you will.”

            She much awaited the reaping of her efforts: with the possession over the demon she would gain not only a powerful new toy but the jurisdiction over his contracts as well. This was imperative as she couldn’t implicate herself in the unlawful termination of his covenant. Her intention all along was to feed the little earl’s soul to Cosette’s pet harpy: the creature subsisted off of little more than souls and carrion, and it would live to suit her needs another day. With the fate of the young man in _her_ hands, she could do with him as she wished. If the terms of the contract hadn’t been fulfilled prior to the taking of his soul then it would be the demon butler, not her, who would suffer the consequences.

            A few adjustments later and Maeve was peering over the document, glittering in the fresh brush of ink and the bloody cursive that comprised her own signature. The demon’s own appeared on the page as if by magic, evidence of the soul signature appearing prematurely as was the case in one-sided contracts. Satisfied, she read over the passage:

“Under the jurisdiction of the overseeing reaper Office of Validation Secretary Edgar Rivers, a contract has been forged between the SUCCUBUS MAEVE BRIGID MAC GIOLLA PHÁDRAIG and the THIRTY-NINTH PILLAR OF SOLOMON, GREAT PRINCE OF HELL MALPHAS on the evening of TUESDAY, 3RD OF OCTOBER 1893 at the location of REAPER HEADQUARTER LIBRARY OF EUROPE | THE UNITED KINGDOM exchanging the SUPPORT OF THE SUCCUBUS COVEN PIUTHAR AN NATHAIR GLAS IN THE ELECTION OF KING OF HELL for the MIND of the contractee. Upon the Blood Mark of the contractee the following soul signatures hereby bind the following contractors together until death:

Contractor – Succubus Maeve Brigid Mac Giolla Phádraig

Contractree – Thirty-Ninth Pillar of Solomon, Great Prince of Hell Malphas

Overseeing Reaper – Office of Validation Secretary Edgar Rivers

This contract is authorized and recognized as legally and spiritually binding by Death Council Member and Chief of Library Victor Laraux”

            “That will do,” Maeve hummed, slicing the neck of the reaper with a flip of her wrist. Shaking the errant blood spatter from her claws she grabbed the contract book and concealed it within the folds of her cloak. Making her way back out of the library, the reaper choking to death as he bled out, Maeve had to smile to herself. In her game of chess, she had executed her insurmountable strategy and soon all of the pieces would fall into place.

**Xxxxxxxxxx**

            Ciel awoke the next morning to Sebastian’s apologetic face and a newspaper bearing the news of a third factory taken down in flames.  The next several days were a whirlwind of staving off the press, conferring with Scotland Yard, and negotiations with Lau that ended in only scant traces of information. It was nothing new: no accelerant, the fire spread from the top of the building, workers trapped and burned.

            Thankfully, the third factory fire seemed to be the last, as the next several days remained quiet. The longest pause between the fires had been four days and as the fifth day came and went, Ciel was wary but relieved. Having secured the remaining three factories to the best of his abilities, the earl turned in for the night, anxious for good news in the morning. Despite this, he was quick to drift off, buckling under the exhaustion of the past several days.

            The earl was roused to the low creak of the window opening, eyes fluttering open and closed again in the darkness. For a moment, he accepted the situation – he supposed that Sebastian had opened it a crack to let out some of the stuffy, warm air – before cold air began to spill over his cheeks. The earl sat up in bed, opening his mouth to protest, but found nothing but dim light spilling into his room through the open window. The gauzy curtains were caught in the fall breeze, held aloft by a single sigh of air and moving with slow, ghostly quality. For a moment, Ciel merely sat and stared, uncertain if he were still sleeping.

            Just as he was making to climb out of bed and close the windows, there was a gentle rustle of feathers. Ciel’s eyes snapped to the dark corner of his bed chambers, mind reeling as his eyes adjusted to the darkness: ‘ _Did a bird get in? Was that the curtain? There’s something in this room._ There’s something in this room.’

            Finally, the shadows within the corners subsided, revealing themselves to be just that: shadows. Ciel laughed softly to himself, resting his palm on his chest, where his squeezing, palpitating heart was beginning to ease back into a comfortable pace. It was merely an echo of sleep; of course he was alone: there was no way that Sebastian would allow anyone to enter the Townhome uninvited.

            As Ciel shifted to climb back under his covers, sharp talons wrapped around the back of his neck.

            A jolt of electric horror shot throughout his body as he felt the sharp, hard claws constrict, squeezing senselessly as there was a low caw behind him. Feebly, Ciel’s hands wrapped around the massive talons, scratching uselessly as his eyes rolled back into his head. His mind had barely even begun to register the attack from behind when the door was thrown open with a splintering bang and the pressure around his throat subsided.

            Sebastian descended upon the creature in an instant, demonic energy rippling off him in waves as dark shadows overtook the room. With feral satisfaction, he felt his claws sink into the flesh of the bird, reveling with macabre pleasure as blood bubbled forth, staining his hands. The thing twisted, cuffing him in the head with a curled wing, trying to shake him off its front. Sebastian snarled, wrenching the mangled flesh forward, catapulting them both through the bedroom. His back met harshly with the edge of a doorframe, drawing forth a harsh crack as bone crushed. Infuriated, the demon lunged forward, clawing with bloodstained hands for the thing’s eyes, somehow darting just out of his own vision.

            In seconds, his spine had mended itself and he used the brief advantage to spring off of the ornamented carpet, dragging the avian with him. Talons lashed out at him, making to rip and maim, and with slightly greater speeds he avoided their reach, fighting with animalistic fury for purchase: the eyes, the windpipe, the jugular, the heart – but the snap of a razor sharp beak and the slickness of the feathers parried his every blow. Growling throatily he leapt at the beast’s neck, impaling the thick mass of plumage with long-since grown fangs.

            He gagged, the taste of oil and rot and decay filling up his mouth and invading his nose. He snarled against the barrage of unpleasantries, screwing his eyes closed as he bit deeper and deeper, vainly angling for something soft and yielding with which to rip the life from the creature bent on breaking his every bone. Again his spine bent unnaturally against a harsh object – the demon faintly recognized it as a banister – before recoiling into himself, tightening the muscles in his legs until–

            The creature shrieked, like a long, whistling inhale of breath as a powerful kick toppled it, wings flapping mightily as it drug the demon attached to it rolling down the grand entryway. They tumbled and capitulated over each other in a mass of bloody feathers and growls until they crashed bodily into a grandfather clock, upsetting it and spilling jagged shards of glass about them. Sebastian skid across the floor, disengaged from the avian in their scuffle, eyes trained on the misshapen figure trying to right itself across the foyer.

            The bird was squawking in short gasps, scrabbling as its clawed feet fought to gain purchase over the pieces of glass beneath it. The demon poised himself, scenting the fear of his prey before lunging again, slamming the bird against the opposing wall. Throwing his weight forwards again and again, he tried to pin or maim the wide flailing wings – whichever came first. The bird flapped forwards, buffeting Sebastian’s attempts, pressing the snarling demon against the stairwell.

            Again, he bunched, coiling his muscles tight before kicking forcefully at the creature’s midsection, propelling it up and over him, crashing with the certain splintering of wood as it barreled straight through the railing. Sebastian only had seconds to flip himself up and onto the staircase before it spiraled back down to attack him, talons extended.

            Without time to react, the demon jumped up to meet his attacker, punching a clawed hand forward to bury into its ruffled chest. Contact. Then his fingers sank further in squelching warm depths, jolting in surprise as they felt the slippery heat of bare muscle and organ and – and the creature was howling in pain and dismay, an overwhelming tortured scream that warped into whistles and wails and crashed about in the demon’s head in a magnified cacophony of _pain._

            And then he was falling, scrabbling into a hunched stand and clutching at his head as all of his acute senses swam and recoiled from the abrasive _being_ of the bird. There was an offbeat flapping of oversized wings, and the dark creature disappeared altogether, leaving Sebastian growling and disoriented.

 _‘That thing tried to hurt them,’_ he internally spat, stripping his crimson gloves off and exchanging them for a clean pair. It was the first thing he had actually thought since the thing’s arrival. And then, simply: _‘Ciel.’_

            Sebastian bound back up along the splintered stairwell, past upended sofas and rumpled carpets, not stopping until his hand rested on the busted doorway.

As he made to enter, Iris, Agni, and Souma had rushed into the hallway, each looking still half-asleep but startled nonetheless. Agni had shed the bandages covering his right hand and Iris was gripping an Enfield revolver to her breast. Souma approached him first, golden eyes blown wide with fear:

            “We came as soon as we heard the commotion – what on earth just happened?!”

            Sebastian shook his head, not even bothering to go into details. “I’ll inform you in a moment. I need to check on the young master’s well-being.” He stopped before entering the room, adding a little icily, “I expect you to keep your distance.”

            Sebastian spilled into a very familiar bedchamber, looking more disheveled then he had allowed himself in quite a long while. Oily green-black feathers still hung in the air, lazily drifting down to rest upon his master’s possessions.

            He set the candlestick he had collected from his master’s sitting room down upon the night stand, its light flickering over the young lord’s all-too-pale features. The butler shed his blazer, vainly hoping to distance himself from the greasy rank of the creature.

            “I apologize for my appearance, my lord. I would’ve cleaned myself off if I weren’t so concerned for your well-being,” he ushered. In two steps, he was across the room, caressing Ciel’s face and turning it this way and that urgently.

            “Did it harm you, young mas—,” Sebastian was silenced as the back of Ciel’s hand collided with his cheek harshly, the prongs of his ring leaving a neat gash below the one that the thing’s claw had created.

            “ _Don’t touch me_!” Ciel barked, pulling away from Sebastian violently. His chest was heaving, heart threatening to burst out of his ribs at any moment as it shuttered and fluttered with fear. He drew his hand to his chest, rocking back and forth silently as he struggled to hold in the whimpers forming in the back of his throat. Sebastian lightly touched the newly-created mark, making a soft noise of surprise.

            “My deepest apologies, young master,” he said quietly, instantly dropping to one knee in submission. “It was out of line for me.”

            Ciel did not reply as he fought himself out of the near-catatonic state, forcing himself to cease the childish swaying. Composing himself to the best of his ability, Ciel fisted his hands in the fabric of his bedclothes, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths, “Did you kill it?”

            Sebastian was silent for a moment, save for the sound of him licking his lips. Ciel’s eyes snapped open and he pinned the demon with a glare, “ _Well_?”

            “No, my lord,” he admitted, shaking his head slowly. “I only have an idea as to what it was, and it escaped before I was able to properly dispose of it —.”

            “I want it dead _now_ ,” Ciel ordered through gritted teeth. Sebastian winced, shaking his head.

            “My deepest apologies,” he repeated, pushing himself off of the ground. “At this point in time that is something that is impossible.”

            “ _Then fix it_!” shouted the still-trembling earl, now shaking uncontrollably. He felt as if he were in the midst of one of the chest-clenching attacks that usually preceded a bout of spleen.  “Do whatever you can to get rid of that… that _thing_. Is that understood?”

            “Yes, my lord,” Sebastian folded one arm in front of him, bowing deeply. “I’ll instruct Lady Sullivan to ward the building against further attacks. In the meantime, you should try to get some rest.”

            Ciel gave a loud, incredulous laugh as he wrapped his arms around himself, as if shielding his body from a second attack. His chest clenched around his violently-beating heart and the earl bent himself in two, making a high keening noise before his shoulders began to heave with the effort of filling his lungs. It was as if no matter how hard he tried, he could not seem to get a lungful of air.

            Black wings – black masks – hands and talons around his neck – a boy with his face dead-eyed upon a marble slab, dark blood trickling from the corner of his mouth: the earl’s vison spun without end, becoming hyper-real as he clutched at the bedsheets and fought to breathe—

Suddenly, warm hands had closed over his shoulders, tilting him back into the pillows before a hand clapped over his mouth. For a moment he struggled against the palm, biting into lips before he realized what Sebastian was attempting to do and held his breath. By the time the butler removed his hand, Ciel’s hyperventilation had stilled to tremulous pants. Sebastian looked down upon him with some of the most unbridled concern he’d ever worn in his life. He reached up to touch his fingers to Ciel’s neck.

            “Is it injured?”

            Ciel stiffened, still shaking in fear and the after-effects of his panic attack. It was clear that parts of the area where the bird had clamped its talons around him were tender and raw, but there were no punctures or gashes like the one that it had created on Sebastian’s cheek. “No, just raw – I… I think I’m going to be ill,” he whispered into his hand, curling unto himself.

            Pitifully, he realized that tears were beginning to creep out and gather in the corners of his eyes; however, he felt no need to contain them this time around. His chest hurt so badly that he did not even search for the strength to hide them as he allowed himself to cry freely, regardless of the demon’s presence.

            “I hate this. I hate this,” he hissed again and again, burying his face in his knees. The attacks were the absolute worst – moments suspended of rational thought and comprised solely of bright, lancing feeling. He felt like an empty mind assaulted from the inside out by raw sensation and there was no way out of the cage that his body provided.

            From the other side of the bed, Sebastian quietly uttered: “May I?”

            Face still buried and having no clue what the demon was asking of him, Ciel nodded furiously. Sebastian cleared his throat softly, and the mattress creaked as the demon climbed on from the other end, moving over the bed slowly and brushing bare fingers against the similarly naked flesh on the back of Ciel’s neck. He flinched, still shaking more than he would’ve preferred, and Sebastian made a very soft noise that Ciel could’ve mistaken for a whimper. Suddenly, something damp moved against the raw area on his neck and Ciel gasped gently.

            Lightly steadying himself on Ciel’s shoulders, Sebastian drew his tongue across the stinging area in short laps. Where the warm sensation touched his skin, the stinging seemed to evanesce away in the trails that were left in his wake. Nuzzling gently into the crook of Ciel’s neck, Sebastian licked up the line of his collarbone to his ear.

            “I apologize,” he intoned with what had to have been embarrassment. “This must seem odd to you.”

            “Is it a demon thing?” the other hummed, terror beginning to ebb.

            “Yes; it’s how we console one another,” Sebastian admitted. “And help one another to heal.”

            “I see,” the earl nodded slightly.

            “Better?” the demon whispered softly, causing yet another shiver to shoot throughout Ciel’s veins. But this one was far from fearful.

            “Y-yes,” he stuttered as Sebastian brought his hand around his face, brushing the tears from his cheeks.

            “There now,” his butler said, gathering up Ciel’s chin and holding it gently, “I’ll be in the parlor conferring with the others should you need me. Again, I implore you to attempt to rest.”

            “O-okay,” Ciel nodded, though he felt as if Sebastian’s hand was controlling his actions, however subtlety. The demon sighed once softly and crawled backwards off of the bed. He closed the windows with a gentle click before picking up the candle on the bedside table and leaving Ciel sitting in the dark once more.

            At the base of his bed, something dark and glossy caught Ciel’s eye. Slowly, he crawled to the foot of the mattress, plucking the object from the carpet. A jet-black feather.

**Xxxxxxxxxx**

            It was nights like these that Maeve Fitzpatrick lived for: curled on the rug with a heavy volume of Poe before a crackling hearth. Outside of her estate, the wind ran through the dying trees, bringing with it the scent of fall on the cusp of winter – crisp and streaked with the sweet scent of dead leaves. The succubus sighed and draped one of her favorite mink furs over her shoulders, long fingers glossing over the golden-emblazoned text: The Raven.

            Giggling at the coincidence, Maeve flipped the book open and rested her cheek upon her palm, gazing over the text with heavily-lidded eyes. However, her relaxation was painfully short-lived as her library telephone gave a shrill ring. Huffing, the blonde buried herself further into her pelts, attempting to ignore the persistent ringing. But the second the serenade of several rings had ceased, it began to ring again. For a moment, Maeve considered merely destroying the thing – but quickly decided against it. It was a brand-new telephone and she had grown quite fond of the floral designs wrapping around the golden spinner. With a long, dramatic sigh, Maeve pushed herself from the rug and crossed the room, plucking up the receiver with a light hand.

            “Hello?”

            “Maeve, _dearest_ ,” a pained voice greeted her on the other end. In the background, Maeve could hear a commotion: someone’s shrill shouts, whistling screeches, and other noises of general malcontent. “How are you this evening?”

            “Robin?” Maeve blinked, taken aback at the sudden, late phone call. “Why, Goodfellow’s has been closed for hours at this point, whatever are you doing up?”

            “Oh yes, I’m doing lovely as well,” Robin returned sarcastically, ignoring her inquiry. “Especially since your… your _friend_ burst in here not ten minutes ago with her stupid _pet bleeding all over my new upholstery_!”

            There was a scuffle and the sound of Robin snarling before the possession of the phone was changed.

            “YOU BITCH!” a breathy voice shrieked over the other end. Maeve wrenched the phone away from her ear, shaking her head.

            “Calm down, Cosette. I can hear you from all the way from the Grange,” she sighed, silently wishing that she could merely hang up the phone. “Now tell me what the matter is, love.”

            “HE NEARLY KILLED MY BABY!” Cosette sobbed, releasing a shuttering breath. “YOU SAID THAT HE WOULDN’T LAY A HAND ON _MON PETIT_ AT ALL! YOU ARE A FILTHY, LYING CUNT!”

            “Cosette,” Maeve sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and massaging gently in an attempt to ease the strain, “Please relax, darling. So we underestimated his ability, we’ll just have to —.”

            “THERE IS NO ‘WE’! I’M TAKING MY BABY AND WE’RE GOING BACK TO PARIS!” screamed the older of the two. There was the faint sound of the harpy cawing softly and Cosette gasped dramatically, ushering sweetly to the thing in French, “Ooooh, la _…_ Momma loves you more than anything in the world, sweetie. We’ll go home soon my baby, no worries!”

            “ _Cosette_ ,” Maeve said in a low, warning tone.

            “ _Quelle_!?” screamed Cosette, “What more do you want from me?! If you want this done the way you want, you’re going to have to take care of the problem yourself, you selfish bitch! It’s absolutely ridiculous that you dragged us all the way out here to take care of a job you just could’ve taken care of when you saw the little slut the first time —!”

            “COSETTE,” snarled the blonde, hair standing on end as she curled her claws around the receiver. The older of the two fell silent, save for a gentle whimper. Maeve sighed, smoothing down her hair with one hand as she composed herself. “Now, you know as well as I do that these things don’t work that way — it is your area of expertise after all.”

            “Why can’t we just kill him?” whined Cosette. “We could just kill the human ourselves and it’ll all be over with! To hell with what the Prince thinks, he’ll thank us later. La, my baby… he nearly got his filthy paws on my baby’s precious heart!”

            “Stop talking like that, you sound like an idiot,” Maeve rolled her eyes, propping herself up on the telephone stand. She huffed, running a hand through her bangs. “If he has any sense, I imagine that he’ll be relocating the human and their little entourage fairly soon. I’ll make this simple for both of us. You track them down. Then, on the thirteenth, meet him in parlay and tell him our conditions: he takes the abomination out of the picture, or we’re going to do it for him — and his little human plaything will go along with it. Naturally, it won’t be that simple,” her eyes fell upon the little red contract book resting beside the phone, as innocuous as an address book.

            “But Maeve!” Cosette continued to whine. There was a clucking as she pulled the harpy up to her breast so that it was breathing obnoxiously into the receiver. “Why do I have to do it? You always make me do these things!”

            “You know I’m no good with controlling myself,” hummed the blonde, extending her claws and admiring them in the firelight, as if to make a point to herself. “If we want to have this settled peacefully without dragging anyone else into the equation, you’re going to have to take care of the social matters,” she smiled with false intent into the receiver. “That’s why you’re so good at your job, lovie. And besides: you’ll be able to go get a first-hand look at our prize. See? There’s still benefit in it for you.”

            Cosette made a show of huffing and pouting and readjusting the massive bird she was most definitely crushing in her arms by that point before giving a melodramatic sigh, “Fine then, I’ll take care of it. I want this over with as soon as possible, especially if it means less trouble for _mon chou_.”

            Maeve continued to grin, “I knew you’d agree.”


	9. Dioscorea Communis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I think we'll be back on our regular updating schedule from now on now that all the graduation festivities have died down! Fun fact: this chapter was written entirely by CheshireCity! Personally its one of my favorite chapters thus far so I hope you guys enjoy it too!  
> ~ChocolateMoosey

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Nine**

**Dioscorea Communis**

_“Pure love and suspicion cannot dwell together: at the door where the latter enters, the former makes its exit.”_

– Alexandre Dumas

            Sebastian set off from the Townhome in jumbled spirits. First and foremost he was concerned for Ciel’s safety and for the safety of the little one he knew was growing inside of him. A hot pulse of self-loathing guilt passed over him: how had he not been able to sense the creature before it had arrived _inside_ the house? Was he slipping? Would he not be able to sense it again?

            He couldn’t bear to have Ciel’s life on his hands, not like that. Not when fate was so drastically out of his own control. He didn’t do well, after all, without having some semblance of power and influence. Perhaps it was just in the nature of being a Hell Prince.

            He had done his best to see to the young man in the fallout of the strange avian’s attack, caring for him the way that he knew best. He wondered if he had pushed the earl too far with such an intimate gesture, but he had also genuinely wanted to help Ciel and soothe his physical pain. As it was, his emotional damages always seemed far beyond his reach.

            That was a point of frustration, too. While he had been summoned to spare the then-child of a horrendous fate, he was too late to assuage the horror and damage that the events had inspired. At the time he’d taken delight in killing the cultists merely out of a carnal lust for blood. He’d cared nothing for Ciel then, didn’t value him. But now… now things were far different, and Sebastian found himself wishing that he could kill them all over again, as if each tortured death would take away a fraction of the hurt and fear from his master’s mind.

           But there was nothing he could truly do for Ciel on that front, no service or magical answer he could provide. He knew now that his best option was to stand by the earl and offer him the best semblance of support he could provide, awkwardly navigating the relationship of master and servant. It didn’t keep him from feeling helpless and useless, though.

            Their relationship itself was another point of contention. Sure, he wasn’t helping or expediting things any by keeping secret the very important news that Ciel was pregnant with his child. But by the same token, how was he to make the earl – a devout realist, even in the face of the supernatural – believe his claims? How would he keep the young man from finding it some manipulation or trick of his?

            The demon’s insides twisted painfully as he navigated the dark streets of London. The truth of the matter was that he had developed feelings for the earl along the extent of their relationship. He had wanted to change their dynamic, but not in the way that he had been ordered. It had been fun, in the moment: he thrilled at being challenged by Ciel, at all the times the earl acted demonic in his own right. But their union lacked a crucial element of sentimentality and genuineness, and in the afterglow everything just felt empty and soured.

            He knew it was foolish to say anything of his true feelings, the affections that had bubbled up inside of him unwarranted. He hadn’t meant to feel such things: in all his very long life he had loathed and evaded the mere thought of settling down, of submitting to commitment with another soul. He thought back to a past lover with his equally crimson eyes and his charming grin. He had squandered everything he’d had to remain unbound by others: how could he possibly expect things to go his way now when his past coldness had made him so undeserving?

            What stung worse than his own self-criticisms was the thought that Ciel may never find him trustworthy or genuine simply because of his being a demon. While he’d always proven to be loyal and obedient, he _had_ done certain things to raise flags of alarm: seeing Undertaker behind Ciel’s back, for instance. He winced all the more as he shoved down the thought of how the earl would feel if he knew that was precisely where he was heading now.

            He couldn’t blame Ciel, either: he knew exactly what kind of person he was and he wouldn’t trust him in such a position. But this time he really meant how he felt and he had no idea how to convey that in a way that the young man could understand. He knew the wall between them was only reinforced by his own hand and yet he was terrified to try to tear it down. He had been many things throughout his reign, but rejected was not one of them.

            What was worse was that the strength of their relationship affected the life of their subsequent child. It was selfish and assuming, of course, to think that Ciel would keep them. But if he _did_ then he would need much more help than he was likely to think. A half demon child was a powerful being, especially when they were toddlers and had yet to control their strength and abilities. He didn’t want Ciel to get accidentally harmed just as much as he didn’t want his child to be scolded for things beyond their capability.

            Thinking of himself as a father was alien and uncomfortable but he knew what he inwardly wanted quite clearly. He wanted to be there for that baby. _His_ baby. He wanted to give them a life they deserved, one with two parents and comfort and security that they weren’t some freak or someone to be ashamed of or hidden away. The thought of a demon child being raised in the human world was frightening. They would be as much a danger to others as there was a danger to them, especially in the formative years. Sebastian couldn’t squish down the desire to protect and to provide. He only hoped that Ciel would give him that chance.

            But there would be none of that if he couldn’t protect them properly, and to do that he needed to know what he was up against. Having attempted to settle Ciel back down for the night, he had paced about the manor and taken stock of everything. No matter how skilled his fighting skills were, he realized belatedly that he was lucky to have been damaged so little.

            His spine had been broken twice, re-fusing quickly thanks to his demonic blood and increased adrenaline levels. He had likely fractured some fangs and sprained a few fingers, might have even injured the muscles of his legs with all of his pouncing and kicking. All of those things had healed over, but he felt the soreness in the areas all the same. Then there were the more obvious cosmetic damages: one left by the bird, the other by his terrified master.

            The bird had managed to puncture his cheek, and frankly he wasn’t sure what had done it, a beak or a talon. It had been quick and he hadn’t immediately noticed the extent of the wound until later when he was trying to make himself presentable once more. It was a splitting of his skin that, when pressed, opened straight into his mouth. It felt horribly uncomfortable and led the demon to go so far as to stitch it closed once he had settled the evening’s affairs.

            It was beyond unusual for him to go to such lengths: usually the bandages and sutures only arose when he was feigning human for unaware audiences. After all, his abilities of quick regeneration should have proved sufficient enough to handle such a small wound. Between that and the healing properties of his saliva, the puncture should have repaired quickly. But if Sebastian was being honest with himself, the wound grossed him out and besides, he couldn’t bear the thought of having a mangled face: he was just too prideful.

            Below this puncture, however, was another wound, one that he hadn’t made move to repair. The twin scratches had since dulled to whitish scars, a lasting indicator of Ciel’s ring colliding with his cheek. This he felt he had deserved, his own emotions and needs selfishly surpassing those of the person he claimed to care for. In a few days’ time the marks would fade away as if they’d never been there at all. Until then, Sebastian decided he would bear them with quiet shame.

            Upon treating himself back at the Townhome, he set about obtaining evidence. He couldn’t fathom how the creature had gotten inside: with its tremendous size and the previous intactness of the doors and windows, it was a genuine puzzlement how the avian had managed to slip in undetected. But then there was its disappearance at the terminus of their fight: was it just Sebastian’s imagination in the aftershocks of the creature’s screams, or had it evaporated into a shadowy, intangible mist?

            He wasn’t certain what sort of supernatural had the power to do that, save perhaps for those descended of vampires, but he’d never heard of a bird of their sort, save perhaps for the Strix of Greece. They, of course, were owl-like, but the demon knew that their eyes were golden yellow, not milky red. And the mysterious avian had appeared more like a crow, besides.

            It was apparent who he’d need to see, and after Ciel’s frustrations with him, it would only look the worse if he were caught. But Undertaker held a bastion of knowledge, particularly about the supernatural, and his assistance could help to ensure Ciel and the baby’s safety. Sebastian resolved that it was worth possible rejection and mistrust so long as he could secure that.

            Taking with him a single black feather, he had set out into the darkened streets of London, weaving through the buildings and alleyways and searching out the place he knew the man would be. Since revealing himself to be a reaper and their apparent enemy, the white haired man had temporarily abandoned his funeral home. He hadn’t liked doing it, he had bemoaned to Sebastian, but it was a necessary evil in order to protect himself.

            He had taken instead to living as a border in the home of a ghoul. It was an equitable arrangement: the landlady ate their victims and Undertaker patched them right back up, experimenting with the extent of his Bizarre Doll’s capabilities. It was unnerving to see limbs lying casually about the man’s living quarters, especially when they had a capacity to twitch and scratch. He had made the solid assertion that all deceased bits be stored properly and out of sight if Undertaker wished for him to spend the night.

            He wasn’t the most thrilled about the ghoul who lived there, either. Not that they were disagreeable as a person, more that their being was distasteful in the eyes of a demon. In the realm of the supernatural, they were the carrion eaters that cleaned off human carcasses and left the souls for the demons and reapers to squabble over. While it seemed symbiotic, the apathy and neutrality of the ghouls made demons embittered towards them. Sebastian knew his dislike was no more than a byproduct of socially ingrained prejudice, but he was wary just the same.

            Undertaker had taken a much more appropriate view to his landlady. Having worked alongside ghouls in the past – they made up a surprisingly large chunk of the mortuary populace, after all – he had befriended several and provided scraps of human meat behind his shop to feed the hungry. Many of these individuals were homeless or faced abject poverty and had no means of safely gaining employment in the human world to care for their children if they had no preexisting skills. Undertaker had always asserted it wasn’t fair or right, and his sympathies seemed to serve him well in hiding.

            Sebastian sighed and readied himself, knocking at the back door of the home that in actuality served as the front. It was how those inside kept stock of their visitors: humans entreated the front door while those of supernatural race called at the back. At the least, it was a neat and efficient system that allowed those inside to know how “normal” they had to appear. Still, Sebastian wished they would tidy up the human meat for his sake.

            A soft skinned woman opened the back door, brown eyes growing reddish in the flickering of the candle she held aloft. “Mister Sebastian?” she called sleepily. “What is the matter, dear? It’s unusual for you to call at this hour.”

            “My apologies, Julia,” the demon returned politely. She wasn’t wrong – if anything, it was around precisely the same hour that he was usually _leaving_ the little establishment. “I’m here to see that horrid mortician again,” he continued, quirking a smile. Despite his unfair reservations against her, the two of them did take up the habit of teasing Undertaker greatly.

            “Oh, that man,” the ghoul sighed. “Well knowing him, he’s not even asleep. He keeps such odd hours these times, working on those… projects… of his.”

            Sebastian knew that the brunette wasn’t fond of Undertaker’s hobbies, especially when her young child got curious and tried to eat the pieces of Bizarre Doll, mistaking it for a tasty snack. Instead he had just grown horribly ill from the necrotic flesh. Sebastian had been there at the time, and, bigotry or no, had been moved at the sight of a sick child and had done the best he could to care for him.

            Knowing that ghouls couldn’t stomach much more than human meat, he had boiled some water and crushed the faintest trace of peppermint within it. It was enough not to make the child more vomitus, but the demon wished he could do more. He wanted to make a soothing soup, something like sanguinaccio, just with human blood. But he didn’t have the first clue on how to sweeten the mixture with such limited options in ingredients and had had to admit defeat.

            “I’ll see to it that his projects stay where they belong,” Sebastian assured the ghoul, trying to erase the wince from his features. _‘In the trash, mainly,’_ he thought acidly.

            “Well come on in,” the brunette welcomed, stepping aside. Pursing her lips into either a knowing smirk or a chastising pout she added, “Henry and I were just about to step out, anyway. I’m still trying to teach him…” she trailed off, not knowing how the man would interpret her words. She was more than aware of the awkwardness between them. “Well, we’ll be heading out.”

            “Enjoy yourselves,” Sebastian hummed, hanging up his coat on the rack in the hall. It was transparent that the majority of his visits had one agenda alone and he was thankful that the landlady was gracious enough to allow them private space.

            Finishing their pleasantries, the demon headed up the narrow stairs to the bedchamber above. Undertaker occupied the entire upper floor, most likely paying a premium for the space he had secured. His quarters contained a bedroom big enough to fit a desk and a bed, a bathroom with a sizable water closet and tub, and an office space that was half filled with storage boxes and the limbs of the deceased.

            Sebastian neatly avoided the latter, barging unceremoniously into the bedroom and surprising the reaper within. The demon closed the door behind him and leaned against it, brooking no escape. The man across from him on the bed cocked a brow, tutting chidingly.

            “Wha’ if I’d been indecent?” he scolded.

            “Oh no,” Sebastian returned flatly. “However would we have gotten over the awkwardness after only months of sleeping together.”

            “Uhu,” the other man chuckled, rolling off his side to sit against the headboard. Raising his knees comfortably he laced his fingers beneath his chin. “An’ wha’ will you be wantin’ from me? Tea? Biscuits? Or a quick fuck like usual?”

            “I haven’t the time, Undertaker,” the demon sighed, barely suppressing an eye roll. “It’s still strange to see you in a bed.”

            “Wha’? Miss fuckin’ in coffins?” the mortician asked cheekily.

            “No. In any case, Ciel needs your help.”

            The smile dropped from the white haired man’s lips, the line of his shoulders growing tense. “Wha’s wrong? Is Ciel okay?”

            “He…” Sebastian trailed off. He wasn’t exactly certain how to quantify his master’s state of being, especially when he so seldom shared it. “He was attacked tonight, at the Townhome,” he supplied instead.

            “Under your watchful nose?” Undertaker queried a bit mirthfully. “An’ you still think you can care for ‘im better?”

            “Don’t push your luck.”

            “Don’ push mine,” the other responded indifferently, relaxing once more. “Clearly you really need my ‘elp, otherwise you’d not ‘ave come.”

            “As if you have the capacity to ignore Ciel when he’s in danger,” the butler sniffed. “I know you better than that.”

            “Wha’s goin’ on, Sebastian?” the embalmer sighed, sensing some prefacing was in order. “Start from the beginnin’.”

            The demon slumped a bit against the door, willing to do what he must to secure Ciel’s safety but loathing it all the same. “He’s pregnant,” he announced quietly. It was only the second time he’d ever said the words aloud.

            “Pregnant?” the reaper coughed, sitting straighter. “You did this?”

            “Yes, yes,” Sebastian waved off quickly. “What could I do? It was an order. I can’t help it if I’m… significantly more virile than some.”

            “Did you think t’ warn ‘im of this?”

            “…Well I’m just as surprised as anyone, if you were wondering,” the demon answered hotly. So perhaps he could have been a bit more prudent in his attentions, but he sincerely hadn’t anticipated the outcome.

            “Does ‘e know?” Undertaker asked seriously. He looked significantly less amused.

            “No… not yet,” Sebastian answered in stilted tones. “I… I’m uncertain of how to inform him in a way that he’ll believe me and still allow me to care for him.”

            “Well if ‘e doesn’ wan’ you t’ –.”

            “I know, I know,” the butler responded quickly. “It’s his prerogative to keep me around at that point or not. But you know just as well as I do that he’s going to need that protection, especially with a little one.”

            “I get the feelin’ this protection is a more immediate threat?” the other returned perceptively. “You mentioned an attack. Wha’s goin’ on? Who’s tryin’ t’ ‘urt ‘im?”

            “I wish I knew,” Sebastian relented. “Between Ciel and Sieglinde, they’ve deduced that it’s likely a succubus. As for whom she is or where she is? That’s a complete mystery. All I know is that she must have dominion over some sort of giant bird.”

            The mortician stilled entirely, seeming almost paler than was his usual ashen complexion. “A bird, you say?” he asked, voice strained.

            “Yes,” the demon pressed, reaching into the breast of his coat to retrieve a single, oily green-black feather. “It matched even my movements and made an attempt on Ciel. He’s fine, however, but the creature did leave a few marks on the back of his neck.”

            The familiar crispness of the undertaker’s scent spiked, its usual comforts of fresh soil and sharp moor air laced with something very much like alarm. A soft hum of interest tumbled from the man’s lips, fingers nimbly dashing out to capture the feather before burying it within the folds of his robes. “Tha’s a ‘arpy,” he announced abruptly, flopping out of bed and rummaging in the books by his desk.

            “Harpy?” Sebastian echoed with a frown. With the countless number of supernaturals he’d encountered in his time – those from Hell, Heaven, and Earth alike – it was hard to keep track of them all, nonetheless the new species they’d managed to form when crossbreeding.

            Undertaker paused in his motions and sent him a pressed smile. “Yes, no doubt about it.” The butler watched the man across the room with measured concern as his – friend’s? lover’s? – scent forcefully ironed itself out back to its normal order.

 _‘What are you hiding from me?’_ he thought with equal suspicion and worry. _‘It’s rare to see your mask slip, even for a moment.’_

            “I knew somethin’ was up,” the white haired man hummed, heaving a heavy tome into his spindly hands. “Read about those fires in the papers, awful thing, tha’. Figured someone was after the li’le earl.”

            “He’s hardly little anymore.”

            “Li’le enough t’ folks s’old s’us,” the mortician shrugged, nodding Sebastian over to the desk where he spread open the book. “Besides, I did all the paperwork for those cases: only a supernatural bein’ could ‘ave killed so many people tha’ quickly. Fire doesn’t jus’ naturally spread tha’ fast, unless there was an accelerant.”

            “Of which there was none.”

            “Precisely.”

            “Then, if you processed the bodies,” Sebastian frowned, thinking over the documents he had seen at Lau’s. “Then that was your name in the mortician’s signature.”

            The embalmer froze, affecting an embarrassed grin. “Ah, well…”

            “Eugene,” the demon spoke aloud. The name felt strange on his lips. “Your name is Eugene, isn’t it?”

            With a sigh, the undertaker straightened his posture, resigned to the truth. “Eugene Fehr,” he nodded lightly. “‘Aven’t ‘eard it aloud in a while, but tha’s my name, yes.”

            “Funny to only hear it now,” Sebastian commented pointedly. He hadn’t expected to feel so tight in his chest, almost winded. They’d been having their little tryst for months on end and the reaper had never once let his name slip, evading it with a smile whenever Sebastian asked. With a jolt he wondered if it had been intentionally withheld for a reason: because he had never shared his own true name.

            Still, it hurt more than he’d like to admit that the other man didn’t seem to find it important enough to tell him his name. It wasn’t exactly sexy to moan the name “Undertaker”, and so mainly he had remained silent. He didn’t like to admit it, nor did he bring it up, but it felt like a greater wedge between them than even their moralistic differences.

            He rubbed at the back of his marked hand self-consciously. What was he even doing? He had Ciel and now they were going to – maybe, he reminded himself – have a child together. Should Ciel permit it. What did that make the reaper? His fallback? No, that didn’t seem right. What was he to Sebastian?

            Certainly his lover. But was he in love with him? A certain number of barbed words had certainly said otherwise. It didn’t keep him from looking to the man – Eugene – as his confidant, as someone he could trust in regards to his own feelings and to the protection of Ciel.

            He wished ardently that the man would abandon his Bizarre Doll experiment, or at least give up his crazed ambition of turning Ciel into one of them. _Killing_ Ciel. Just the thought made his blood boil and pinpricks of fear sour his tongue. The reaper certainly had the power to. He was strong, unusually strong, far stronger than Sebastian. That both enticed and worried him. Made him curious about the other man. The memory of a scythe sinking into his spine still filled him with intense appreciation and bitter betrayal.

            Each time they met up, kissed with teeth, touched roughly, gently, it all felt like he was tearing back a little layer of flesh and finding the man beneath. To have a name after so long made him feel like he was getting a little closer to finding out that truth. He wanted to know that truth. Maybe even be accepted by it. He hated how much his happiness was hinging on others these days.

            “Eugene Fehr…” he mused aloud, testing it out. He could get used to a handsome name like that.

            “Fehr Ni ‘oulihan, if you want t’ go full Irish.”

            “Full Irish indeed! ‘Ni Houlihan’. Don’t tell me your mother’s name was Kathleen,” the demon laughed, throat still tight. So it was like that, then? The usual dismissal of uncomfortable facts and feelings. Well fine.

            “Kathleen Ni Houlihan, personification of Ireland herself,” the other smiled lopsidedly, not quite looking at the demon. “Well I certainly knew ‘er.”

            “That’s not an answer.”

            “Come now, love, look a’ this,” the reaper diverted instead, tapping a single long nail against the open pages.

            Sebastian jumped at the sentiment, calming himself instantly with the assertion that the man used pet names for everybody. _‘It doesn’t make this more legitimate,’_ he chastised himself. _’It doesn’t mean he cares.’_

            He approached the open manuscript with interest, determined to drive his attentions elsewhere. It didn’t help that Eugene was so close to him, their arms pressed together intimately as they shared the book.

            Craning his neck down at the handwritten manuscript of the pages, he had to wonder why such an important-looking book had been neglected for so long. The color of the pictures were fainter in some places than others, as if hands had traced their shape after years of use. A thin layer of grimy dust coated them and the paper smelled delightfully old. A volume like that with detailed information on the supernatural – as ascertained from looking at the information within – would go for quite a lot in an auction where he was from.

            The page they had arrived on was titled in fanciful script, the first letter of the word “harpy” illuminated with little vines and berries and birds. Sebastian watched as slightly wavering fingers traced the outline of the passage’s illustration – a horrific black bird with a gaping hole in its breast. He couldn’t help but notice another spike in the reaper’s scent, the usual essences of pepper and rich earth growing heady and overwhelming with anxiety and sadness. Unable to stop himself, he rested a gloved hand atop Eugene’s shaking one, thumbing over the cold fingers.

            The mortician laughed and pulled away, brushing more grime from the pages. “It isn’t time for tha’,” he admonished lightly. “Least no’ yet,” he added with a twinkle of mischief.

            The emotionality had vanished from his scent, again purposefully blocked out by the reaper himself. Sebastian dropped his gaze, knowing things weren’t alright.

            “So! ‘Arpies!” Eugene exclaimed, full of enthusiasm. “Though I do believe the term ‘‘Arpy’ is a tad outdated; ‘s nearly defunct by now. Yes, I do believe the term nowadays is ‘Snatcher’ or ‘Soul-Snatcher’.”

            “You seem to be well informed,” the demon hazarded. “What do you know about them?”

            “Enough,” the undertaker gave a small cough as he traced a finger along the text. “Let’s see ‘ere; as we all know, a snatcher is made from a mother demon and a father reaper,” he quickly read aloud.

            Sebastian stiffened in surprise. Suddenly the reaper’s reactions, his strange looks and anxiousness about the information, all of it made sense. He remembered holding the other man as he’d confessed his story, tears flowing silently against his shoulder. _‘Poor little Sara,’_ the demon thought worriedly. _‘And poor –.’_ But the undertaker was carrying on, pretending they didn’t both know the same terrible secret.

            “Usually they’re born quite uncontrollable, with an amount of energy comparable to a cambion –.”

            “A cambion?”

            “Yes, the product of a ‘uman and an incubus or a succubus.”

            “I know what a cambion is,” Sebastian snapped. “I just didn’t anticipate there was something to rival it in power.”

            “I ought not tell you about caulists, then.”

            The demon fought an eye roll. _‘How ignorant do you think I am?’_ he grumbled to himself. _‘I do know some things, being a Hell Prince and all. Not that’d you’d know anything about_ that _, but…’_

            He sighed aloud as Eugene found himself distracted once more, turning instead to his oversized pockets and spilling an assortment of appalling objects onto the desk until at length he found a slender pair of silver reading glasses and slipped them on over his nose. Sebastian had the distinct impression that among the skeleton keys, coffin nails, and oddly placed meat pie, that the tiny bones he was seeing were the very illegally obtained ex-appendages of the Queen’s swans. Smirking at the flagrant display of rebellious anti-patriotism, the demon waited for the misanthrope to sweep his hair from his eyes – a brilliant chartreuse he deeply loved – and continued to read aloud.

“‘–  _the form of the animal familiar of the mother_ ’ …no, no… ‘ _Reaper mothers usually sire_ –’ now that’s not it,” Eugene frowned, squinting down at the lines of crowded text. “Ah! Here we are: ‘ _The existence of_ Animam Aufero _, more commonly known as harpies, snatchers, or soul-snatchers can be traced as far back as ancient Egypt, in which the reaper Anubis_ –.’”

            “Reaper?” Sebastian couldn’t help but interject. “Since when was Anubis a reaper?”

            “Since as long s’I can remember,” the other replied innocently, snatching a bone-shaped cookie from a small urn and popping it into his mouth.

            “Anubis has always been described as a humanoid jackal. You can’t tell me that doesn’t scream of anima demon?”

            “An’ ‘e’s the god of embalming an’ the afterlife. Protects graves, was an embalmer. Ushered souls into the afterlife and weighed their ‘earts against a feather?” Eugene countered with a triumphant smile. “You can’t claim all the interestin’ ones for demonkind.”

            “Don’t make this about blood feuds. Keep reading.”

            The reaper smirked with self-congratulatory pride before continuing. “‘— _in which the reaper Anubis sired an illegitimate child with the cow demoness Hathor, whom was incorrectly celebrated as a reaper by many humans. The child born from their union was Dendara: a sickly, twisted creature with a massive gash in its chest, through which a beating heart could be clearly seen. The creature neither acted nor spoke like either a god or a demon, communicating in shrieks that have been said to wake the dead and going on violent rampages throughout small Egyptian villages._ "

            Sebastian pressed forward, gazing at the picture of the creature he’d battled just hours earlier. So when his hand had sunk through its breast it hadn’t been a mistake.

            “‘ _Disgusted, Anubis cut the very beating heart from the creature's chest only to find that it did not die. The thing tore into the nearest village and extracted a human's soul, plunging it into its very chest. After several attempts to slay his curséd offspring, Anubis came to realize that it was using the human soul as an energy source to heal its wounds. It was only when Anubis pinned Dendara with his sword, wrenched the soul from the creature, and bled it to death that he was able to destroy it once and for all. Interestingly enough, the method for slaying a snatcher remains true to the tale of Anubis and his child Dendara; the heart must be extracted from the snatcher's chest and it must be slain whilst not containing a heart or a stolen soul to leech energy from_.’”

            With a macabre sense of finality, the undertaker snapped the tome shut, causing his audience to start. “A lovely story,” he lilted, turning to Sebastian with his signature quirked grin. “One of my favorites as a child.”

            “You were a child once?” the demon shot back dryly, much to the embalmer’s amusement. He could only envision a mop-headed child in oversized robes, giggling to himself and clinging on to a disembodied limb. Much like the man before him, only in disturbing miniature.

            “Strangely enough, yes,” came the whimsical reply, only confirming the disturbing images Sebastian was providing for himself. The mortician stole back to the bed, fishing out another bone-shaped shortbread. “Sure you don’t want any biscuits?”

            “Quite.”

            “Tea, then?” he pressed with an impish smirk.

            Sebastian laughed, knowing where the man was going. “No, thank you.”

            “Sex?”

            “Thought you’d never ask.”

            “Ah, ah!” the reaper stalled him, holding up a finger. “Don’t think you’ll get rewarded so easily. We ‘aven’t really talked abou’ this,” he hummed, nodding over to where the now-closed book sat.

            “What do you mean?” the demon recoiled with what could have been a pout. “You gave me the answers I was looking for. I know what we’re fighting now and I’ve an idea how to kill it. What more is there to say?”

            “Your intentions, o’ course,” Eugene pointed out. “So you kill the ‘arpy and Ciel is safe again. You still ‘ave the succubus to deal with an’ I’m sure you can imagine why she’s after the pair o’ you.”

            Sebastian pursed his lips and fidgeted where he stood. “Because of the child, right?” he sighed. “Those sex demons should know their place by now, the nerve of them.”

            “Oh?” the reaper quirked a brow. “Racist, are we?”

            “That’s none of yours,” the other returned tersely. “I’ve my reasons. It’s not as if it’s easy to get cuddly with the notion of them when they busy themselves in affairs that they’ve nothing to do with, killing our little ones just because they feel threatened. It’s not right.”

            “Well, I’m no’ abou’ t’ weigh in ‘ere,” Eugene shrugged neutrally. “Bu’ the fact still remains tha’ the earl is in danger just as much as the child. We know the succubus wants them dead, but wha’ abou’ Ciel ‘imself? Shouldn’t ‘e know before it gets too late in the pregnancy?”

            “Yes…” the demon balled and unballed his fists. He was being selfish and childish, he knew. Ciel deserved autonomy over his own body, even if it came at the risk of Sebastian being sent away or rebuked. There was no doubt now that his fears were driving his actions – or inactions, rather.

            “Alright,” the mortician pressed. “Say ‘e wants t’ keep the child. Wha’ do you do abou’ the succubus then?”

            “Kill her,” Sebastian replied obviously. “I’ve done as much before.”

            “Sure,” the other returned flatly. “But you know another will just crop up in ‘er place. An’ another after tha’. Chances are she ‘as a coven. You really think they’ll take one of their own bein’ killed so lightly? You think even after you kill every last one o’ them that you’ll ‘ave peace? Tha’ your child will ‘ave peace? Tha’s not reality, Sebastian, an’ you ‘ave to know it. Ciel decides to keep this child and they will be dogged for the rest of their lives. Are you really willing to protect them? An’ if so, wha’ are you doin’ it for? The sake o’ your progeny? Or the sake o’ your child?”

            Sebastian bristled, not knowing what to make of the slew of information. He’d known it wouldn’t be an easy choice, not for himself or for Ciel. That he’d have to accept a lot of parts of himself that made him uncomfortable. Mainly his emotions. But he’d not thought so far ahead. That his child may never be safe. That Ciel, as a result, may never be safe. He felt guilty and angry. “Of course I’d protect them!” he answered harshly. He could physically feel his defenses go up. “You think I’d leave them to their own devices? To die?”

            “I don’ know wha’ your intentions are,” Eugene continued calmly. “Demons don’t always stick by their lovers, and ‘e isn’t even your mate. Unless… you want ‘im t’ be?”

            The demon recoiled at the words, taken aback and instantly flustered. A mate? There was only one person he had considered in his hundreds of years taking as his eternal partner, and that opportunity had long since passed him by. But Ciel… he felt a lurch in his chest and wondered if he was ready to consider that possibility again. His feelings were… equitable… to before, weren’t they? His expression must have changed because as he looked up he envisioned a slightly hurt look in Eugene’s own.

            “Is tha’ it?” the undertaker pressed, sounding a bit edgy. “Do you want t’ mate ‘im? You think tha’s fair, either? ‘E’s your charge, Sebastian.”

            “I know what he is!”

            “An’ ‘e’s ‘uman a’ tha’. You mate ‘im and ‘e’ll turn into a ‘alf demon. ‘E’ll ‘ave to watch everyone ‘e’s ever known die. You give ‘im this curse an’ ‘e may never find peace.”

            “So what?” the demon spat. “It’s better to just kill him now? Spare him from living in reality? From healing on his own terms? Don’t you think I’d be giving him more time to do that? To find his happiness again?”

            “Providing you care abou’ tha’.”

            “Providing I –? How disingenuous do you take me to be?” Sebastian was positively yelling. “Do you really think I’d just mate someone I didn’t love?”

            They both froze, the words out on the table. Sebastian flushed scarlet immediately, half from embarrassment and half from sheer anger. Eugene for his part looked like he was seething in pain.

            “Do you find me so disingenuous?” the demon phrased again, voice disturbingly placid. “You, who wouldn’t even tell me your fucking name no matter how much I asked? You, who never even asked for _mine_.” The reaper made to pull a face but Sebastian hissed right passed him. “Don’t even try to give me any of your bullshit. You know this isn’t my real name, you’ve known ever since Ciel brought me back to his estate. Knew that he named me after that damned dog of his, the little shit. And still, you never once bothered to ask me who I really am.”

            “Would you even ‘ave told me?”

            “You know, I might have,” the butler responded venomously, feeling a twisted surge of triumph when the words resulted in his partner’s hurt.

            “Sebastian…”

            “Don’t.”

            “Beautiful creature,” the reaper supplicated.

            Sebastian melted, unable to help himself. He was weak for the pet name and they both knew it. Unhappily he sighed and sat beside the man on the bed. “What?”

            “Does this mean so much to you?” Eugene’s words were surprisingly serious.

            The demon paused, holding an arm to his chest protectively. “Yes,” he relented, feeling ashamed. He still didn’t know what to call what they had, or if it should even exist at all. He was already betraying Ciel’s trust and the relationship would only drive a wedge further between himself and the earl. He didn’t need evidence as to why he shouldn’t be allowed near his child.

            That aside, he still worried about Eugene. Whether it was truly safe to trust him or not. He couldn’t be certain he wouldn’t just kill Ciel at the first chance he got in some deranged desire to protect him. To spare him, more like. Would he do so with the child still in the earl’s womb? Or would he be content with leaving them without a parent? None of it sat well with Sebastian, and they were flaws he couldn’t overlook so easily. He couldn’t afford to.

            Eugene’s eyes reflected his thoughts back to him. He saw the same trepidation trapped within the chartreuse irises, the same craving for affection and desperate desire for something real. Caving, he let his own ruby flutter closed and leaned forward to capture the man’s lips in a soft kiss. Eugene hummed in surprise but quickly slackened, kissing in turn.

            His hands came to rest at the demon’s shoulders, urging him closer. Sebastian didn’t feel like resisting and pressed to the reaper’s chest, enjoying his embrace, his lips, and the heady cologne of his natural scent. It smelled of the outdoors, of comfort.

            ‘ _I’m a fool for this,’_ he admonished himself distantly. _‘A damned fool.’_

            The kisses grew deeper and sloppier, lips melding together and cupping around wandering tongues. They played at dominance – the outcome would always be the same, after all – taking turns biting and sucking gently at the other’s lips and tongue.

            Their lips dropped from one another, trailing wet and warm kisses along jawbones, wandering down the slender columns of necks, burying in the crook above the collarbone. Here they began to whimper and moan, fighting the urge to bare their flesh to one another, delighting in the thrill of near-mating as teeth came out to sample skin.

            Then Eugene was pulling his lover fully onto the mattress, tangling their legs together as he pressed Sebastian’s back to the bed. A long sheet of silvery hair spilled over his shoulder, and the demon smiled, lacing his fingers between the silken strands. “You’ve always loved my ‘air, ‘aven’t you?” the reaper commented softly.

            “I have,” the other smiled, drawing his fingers up to cup the base of Eugene’s skull and pull him into another kiss. As they parted, Sebastian laughed, face tickled by the other’s massive amount of fringe. He brushed the bangs back from the mortician’s forehead, placing a kiss there. “But what I love even more are your eyes. How seldom you let me see them.”

            “They’re just eyes,” the man flushed awkwardly.

            Sebastian smiled. Eugene had never known how to take a compliment.

            When they kissed next, the reaper’s hand had found its way to the slope of the demon’s neck, cradling it and thumbing across the line of Sebastian’s jaw. The butler nuzzled against his open palm, placing a kiss to what part of it he could reach. The embalmer’s hands were rough and calloused from his trade. _‘And from handling that scythe,’_ he realized belatedly.

            He loved the feel of the man’s hands on him.

            Knowing just where he wanted to feel them he leaned up for another kiss, taking a hand in his own and trailing it down his body and pointedly to the front of his slacks. Eugene laughed around their kiss, his curious little “uhu” sound. Even this Sebastian had come to hear as charming.

            The reaper did as he was quietly begged, palming slowly across the tenting material, body grinding slightly down on top of the other male’s. It was hard to resist the need for friction, what with Sebastian’s cock all but in his hand and his lips at the demon’s neck. He hummed contentedly, sounding far less reserved than before.

            The demon keened into his touches, panting softly and slowly beginning to submit. He couldn’t help it, not with Eugene.

            The reaper pulled him free from the confines of his pants, smoothing over the wetting head of his cock with teasing little strokes. As his attentions increased, rubbing the shaft with his hand, fingers wrapping around his growing member, Sebastian began to whimper in earnest. All pretense was dropped from his face. He looked flushed, disheveled, and honest.

            It was a shared trait between them. They could hide nothing from one another when they were having sex. They liked to pretend not to notice their problems when they could, liked to skim over the difficult parts. They butted heads on the same topics over and over again, riled each other to the point of near tears. But in sex they were honest, open. They could be close to one another without fear.

            Eugene groaned, pulling back to toy with his own pants, drawing himself forward and giving his cock a few languid pumps. The demon beneath him smiled, raising his hips to frot them together in just the way they liked. Taking the initiative, the reaper wrapped his hand around them both, relishing in the friction of skin on skin. He could feel slickness in his palm and he wasn’t sure if it was his pre-cum or Sebastian’s. He spread it across them all the same, drawing a pleasured sigh out of his partner with each gentle tug.

            But the demon couldn’t take much of the teasing: they hadn’t gotten together in a month, not since their spontaneous hookup in the cemetery. The mortician had clearly reveled in the setting, eyes and actions more mischievous and flirtatious. They had acted rashly with roving hands and lingering bites, and Sebastian knew he’d left claw marks down his lover’s back. They’d not had the luxury of properly undressing then, always at the risk of being caught.

            It was an extravagance they could afford now. He paused their actions long enough to start disrobing, slipping off his gloves first and tugging off his suit jacket. Eugene wiped his hands off on the bedspread – it would need to be washed again, anyway – and made to help him with his buttons, freeing him from his vest and dress shirt quickly.

            “Should we keep the tie on?” he teased, pulling at the silken fabric still roped around the demon’s neck. All the same he eased it off, too, letting it drop off the side of the bed.

            Scrabbling for a moment, they stood, toeing off their shoes and pulling down their pants. Sebastian grinned at the increasingly naked form of his lover, helping him out of his customary robes and high necked top. Eugene was always a little self-conscious – he had no apparent need to be, given the gentle sculpt of his body – and so the demon made sure to calm him, kissing him thoroughly and drawing him back to the bed.

            He spread his legs for the reaper, hooking them over the rise of the man’s hips and baring himself to the other’s touch and gaze. “You do tha’, you know wha’ll come next.”

            “Of course,” the demon teased back, contorting the upper half of his body to reach into the drawer of the nightstand while remaining on the mattress himself. He eased out a small bottle half-full of clear liquid and passed it off to Eugene. Not bothering to close the drawer, he flopped back onto the bed, anticipation clear in his expression.

            Eugene chuckled, uncapping the container and letting the fluid within coat his fingers. It was cool, and so he rubbed it into his palm, letting the heat from his skin lessen the shock. Generously, he began to coat the cock and the entrance of the man situated in his lap. Sebastian moaned in obvious pleasure immediately, relaxing into the sensation and pressing against his hand.

            The fingers moved forward as they were bid, pushing gently at the demon’s entrance and slipping slowly within. Sebastian groaned and repositioned himself, willing his body to relax. As often as they’d done this, the tightness hadn’t subsisted, though it had become easier, more comfortable as they went along.

            Eugene did his part to distract from the discomfort, lathing attention over the taut lines of the butler’s stomach, pressing kiss after kiss to the heated skin. He trailed up and then back down, sucking at the rise of hip bone and biting gently along his sides to lay kisses to the valley of his legs. He teased the insides of the demon’s thighs, leaving a litany of little bruises and possessive markers of their lovemaking.

            Then the man had relaxed totally against the reaper’s fingers, signaling his readiness. Eugene sent him a gentle smile, looking for the go ahead. Sebastian gave it, understanding the look and nodding enthusiastically. The mortician chuckled at his lover’s eagerness and situated them both into a comfortable position, wedging a pillow behind Sebastian’s lower back. The demon sighed and let himself be manhandled, trusting the reaper in this realm completely.

            He keened a low moan as Eugene entered him, secured by his hips in the grasp of the man’s hands. They kissed slowly, taking their time as they worked the reaper all the way to the hilt. Eugene nuzzled his nose against the crook of Sebastian’s neck, feeling his pulse against his lips and cheeks as he reveled in the scent that was so uniquely the demon’s own. It would remain in the room long after the man had left, woven into his sheets, his pillow; the scent of their sex still discernable to his senses.

            He held on to these glimpses of Sebastian, missed them when finally time or laundering washed them away. It was only then that he felt truly and utterly alone. As he made a slow thrust he wondered if he should grasp the other’s hand, interlace their fingers like lovers would. Would it be too intimate? They had set no boundaries on their relationship and no definitions on what they were and weren’t. Instead he brushed a thumb over the demon’s cheek, turning his chin so they could look into each other’s eyes.

            Sebastian immediately flushed, unaccustomed to such genuine affections. They had gone about sex in various different ways, but the majority had been heated and sudden, grabbing at hair and hips and biting, scratching, sending taunting comments and low key threats. That was just their way, it seemed. But this? This was completely different and neither knew exactly what it meant.

            “You like this?” Eugene ushered quietly.

            “Yeah,” Sebastian panted, fighting the urge to drop his gaze. When the reaper smiled in return he felt a piece of himself melt.

            They came together, a first for them: Eugene stroking his lover’s cock as he rocked into him, each spurred on by the other’s imminent release. With a rush it was over, leaving them shaky and tingling. Exhausted, the reaper collapsed to one side, pulling Sebastian against his chest.

            This was something else new for them. The demon started, anticipating his lover to get up and get redressed. He relaxed into the caress, placing a cheek to the warmth of the palpitating chest beside him. Lazily he traced the outline of Eugene’s scars, running his fingers over his torso and up his neck to his still-handsome face. Cradling it between his hands he drew the mortician in for a slow kiss.

            When they broke, the reaper had an easy if rueful smile. He sighed and relented to an unvoiced thought. “Well, if you’re goin’ t’ be protectin’ Ciel,” he began, getting up from the bed despite Sebastian’s unintentional whimper. “You’re goin’ t’ need a place t’ ‘ide ‘im – at least for now.”

            The butler paused, cocking his head curiously. “Hide him? You know a place?”

            “I do,” Eugene nodded, slipping an old key from the depths of his desk. With great seriousness he set it on the nightstand, intending the demon to retrieve it once they had redressed. “An’ it should belong t’ ‘im, too. It was Vincent’s.”

            “His father’s?” Sebastian blinked. He’d never come across any mention of another Phantomhive property, not even in his late night wanderings of the estate.

            “It was secret, see? Only a ‘andful of us Evil Nobles knew o’ it. ‘E ‘ad it built just for ‘im, paid the workers well so they never told anyone tha’ it even existed. ‘E’d take Diedrich an’ I out there oftentimes. It’s a bit o’ a ‘untin’ lodge, just out in one o’ the more forested bits o’ North Wessex Downs. Before Vincent died, well…” he looked distant for a moment. “I think ‘e knew wha’ ‘e was up against, in the end. Never really talked abou’ it. But shortly before it all ‘appened, ‘e gave me the key t’ the place an’ told me it was mine. It’s only right tha’ I pass it on to you now.”

            Sebastian nodded gravely, appreciative of the gesture. He unfolded himself from the bed and walked up to his lover, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pressing his chest to the other’s back. “I really wouldn’t be able to protect him without you,” he admitted softly.

            “I know,” Eugene replied, not unkindly.

            “Funny,” Sebastian continued, eyes distant. “That it should get to a point where not even a person of my caliber can definitively save him.”

            “You never told me your name, you know,” the reaper hummed, delighting in the small jump of the man behind him.

            A tentative smile shot across Sebastian’s face. “Then… you wish to know it?”

            “I do.”

            The demon softened, pressing a kiss to his lover’s shoulder. Reaching up, he whispered the answer like the secret it was.


	10. Pteridophyte

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Ten**

**Pteridophyte**

_“I no doubt deserved my enemies, but I don’t believe I deserved my friends.”_

– Walt Whitman

            Situated in the massive fireplace in the study of the London Estate, Sieglinde sat before her iron cauldron as it bubbled sweetly with blackberry and blueberry. Dried sprigs of Irish broom were scattered across the threshold of the entrance to the room and salt was sprinkled on the windowsills. Ever vigilant beside her brew, the witch absently fingered at the pewter wand as it set across her lap. Tipped with sparkling emerald it had seemed to call to her when she first found it, and she was loathe to part from it for long. Her eyes were hardened in determination, and every several minutes she’d lean over to give her protective brew a firm stir.

            Ciel lay in one of the aging parlor seats, covered in a thick blanket that Souma had forced on him despite the roaring fire nearby. Sieglinde had mixed a calendula poultice and smeared it thick over his neck wound, wrapping it with cheesecloth. Mixed with the scent of the berry potion, the smell was overpoweringly sweet and Ciel teetered on the verge of nausea.

            Souma stirred from where he sat across from Ciel, eyes flicking up from a book he wasn’t reading. The mood in the study was infinitely different from that he’d left his friends with five nights prior – there was nothing but genuine concern and love for him in their faces. Ciel crumpled a bit beneath the heavy blanket, once again cursing his growing attachment to his peers.

For years, he’d strived to keep a professional distance from all those who surrounded him in order to lessen the sting whenever he inevitably used them up and left them behind without remorse. Maybe it was maturity or maybe it was the fact that his best friends had forced themselves into his life without argument, but Ciel found himself… attached.

            It had occurred to him when Sieglinde was furiously mixing the calendula salve, muttering to herself in German. It was so low and rushed that Ciel couldn’t discern all that he was saying, but he certainly caught snippets: “ _Warding the house… stupid… careless idiot… my fault._ ”

            Souma had approached Ciel with a cup of tea – made by himself no less – and insisted that the cardamom in it would help with his nausea. He’d then proceeded to strike up a very one-sided conversation with Ciel about one of his favorite penny dreadfuls, taking the time to encourage his friend’s engagement in the topic in order to help get his mind off of the attack. Eventually, the conversation had died down and Souma had turned his gaze to the kitchen floor.

            “I was terrified, you know,” he said with a little laugh that held no humor. “When I heard that screeching noise, I thought you were dead.”

            “As if I could be killed so easily,” Ciel sniffed, although his façade seemed pitiful even to himself.

            There was a _thunk_ as Sieglinde dropped her pestle into the mortar, staring hard into the dark soapstone, “You really don’t understand your situation, do you?” she glared up at him, and the whites of her eyes were stained pink. “No… _nien_ , I think you do. You know very well how dangerous that thing was.”

            “Sieglinde —,” Souma began hesitantly, but the witch cut him off with a raised hand, her eyes still locked with Ciel’s.

            “You just don’t value your life, do you?” Sieglinde asked, acid in her tone. Ciel jumped a little at the allegation and felt his blank expression sink into one of anger.

            “What a baseless accusation —!”

            “Don’t try to argue!” she snapped. “It’s a _miracle_ you aren’t in pieces!”

            “Sebastian wouldn’t have let –!”

            “Did you _see_ what that thing did to his face?” Sieglinde thrust a finger towards her cheek. “It went _clean through_. For _him_ to have struggled against it —!” she cut herself off, shaking her head furiously.

            “It doesn’t matter; I’m _fine_ ,” Ciel insisted; he had to clench his hands around the teacup to keep them from trembling at the prospect of something that could take on Sebastian so easily. He was still reeling from his earlier panic attack, and already his heart was picking up speed.

            “But what if you wouldn’t have been?” Souma asked suddenly, and Ciel looked over to see that the prince was grimacing, brows drawn together.

            Ciel opened his mouth to reply, but found he didn’t have an answer.

            Sieglinde set her mortar aside and stood from where she was seated beside the counter. With tentative little steps, she made her way over to Ciel and began to apply the salve to his neck in a thick layer. It tingled pleasantly, the smell diffusing over the kitchen as she worked over the raw skin. Ciel looked into her eyes – now void of tears but still clouded over in hurt – and then over to Souma. The prince looked near tears himself, absolutely crushed with anxiety and fear. Even though they hadn’t even _seen_ the creature, their reactions were still so visceral, as if they had been the ones about to lose their life.

            But… they had almost lost their best friend, hadn’t they? Ciel recalled Sieglinde’s gentle pleading when he’d expressed such flippancy at the thought of being devoured by Sebastian. He thought back to the time, years ago, when he’d returned to the Townhome from Noah’s Arc Circus, almost too ill to see – how Souma had fretted and cried and waited outside of the door to his sick room like an anxious puppy. The fear in Sieglinde’s voice when she’d discovered that Ciel had been exposed to what she believed had been an evil miasma.

The sleepless hours he and the prince had spent talking during their time together in school – the look on Souma’s face when Ciel had admitted to his time in captivity one of those nights when they were three-quarters deep into a bottle of Glenturret malt whiskey. Souma had laid his head on Ciel’s shoulder and cried for an hour straight because Ciel could no longer bring himself to cry.

For whatever reason, the two had chosen him as a friend and – despite all odds – they loved him. Seeing him act so flippantly in the face of death when they themselves were scared beyond comprehension baffled and hurt them.

            And Ciel could no longer afford to pretend that their sincere affections meant nothing to him.

            As such, he’d allowed himself to be treated with the salve, guided into the study, and piled with a warm, heavy blanket. It may have done nothing to assuage his anxieties, but knowing that it set his two best friends at ease was comfort enough.

            Suddenly, there was a wrapping at the door and Sebastian uttered, “Excuse me,” before entering. Or, rather, attempting to enter. He stopped in his tracks, eyes darting to the Irish broom dusted across the entrance. He stepped over the powder slowly, like stepping through molasses and a small but noticeable shiver wracked his frame. Ciel felt a distant swell of pride in the Green Witch’s abilities: if the enchantment was strong enough to deter Sebastian, it was guaranteed to prohibit lesser demons’ entrance.

            “Sebastian,” Ciel said evenly. “Have you procured the necessary information?” he inquired, as if he knew why the demon had left in the first place.

            As a result, Sebastian looked a little perplexed before producing a small key. “Indeed I have,” he replied. “Young master, you and I are to retire to an old property of your father’s in the countryside.”

            Ciel furrowed his brow, vague memories of taxidermy hunting trophies and a dense stretch of forest stirring in the back of his mind. He hadn’t even thought of the place in years – much less made directions for anyone to provide upkeep. It had to be in horrid condition, but if it was enough to keep him safe, it was as good an option as any. However–

            “So you propose not only running,” the earl said impatiently. “But leaving Miss Sullivan and Souma behind, defenseless?”

Sebastian was not the only one shocked by this inquiry. Both of the earl’s friends turned to face him with raised brows. The demon cleared his throat.

“I can assure you that Miss Sullivan is more than capable of protecting herself and Master Souma both,” Sebastian professed, glancing back towards the dust he’d struggled to step over. “Now, if you’d allow me to arrange —.”

“No,” Ciel interrupted swiftly. “I’d feel much better having Sieglinde’s protective prowess at my side; and although Agni is incredibly capable, I wouldn’t want to leave Souma to that thing’s mercy.”

Although he could not see them, Ciel could all but feel Souma and Sieglinde’s astonishment at his words. “And besides, it would be wiser to travel in numbers,” Ciel resumed. “ _If_ we are to travel at all. What makes you so desperate to flee in the first place? It isn’t like you.”

Sebastian stared at Ciel impassively, as if he were taking his time to process his reply. It had been slow to develop, but the butler had been hesitating more and more as of late. It was almost as if he were treading foreign waters, which was perplexing to Ciel who – in their years of being acquainted to one another – had hardly ever seen the demon take pause, let alone be at a loss for words.

‘ _What are you hiding, Sebastian?_ ’ Ciel thought, eyes narrowing slightly as the butler continued to stay silent.

“Well,” Ciel spoke up suddenly, realizing that Sebastian would never provide him with a suitable answer at this rate. “If we’re to take our leave, then you should see to making preparations.”

Sebastian blinked, as if Ciel had shook him from a reverie, before sinking into a neat bow, “Yes, my lord.”

**Xxxxxxxxxx**

            Sebastian was thankful that he was no stranger to North Wessex Downs as he led the procession of carriages through the winding roads. He had been there before, after all, many years ago when Ciel and Lizzy had gone boating to see the white horses. Still, he wasn’t completely trusting in the directions the reaper had given him to the hunting lodge. Saying that it was in the middle of a particular forest was a little less than specific.

            He sighed in relief as the trees of Savernake Forest peeked around the gentle swell of the hillside. It was quite literally ancient, having stood since the 1100s. The butler regretted not having seen it when it comprised of saplings – he had to be over two thousand years old by that time, anyway. But he’d probably been entrenched in some siege or war at the time – really, after so long it was hard to keep track.

            He cast a look over his shoulder at the black and red carriage he drove. Inside his master sat with Sieglinde and Iris, comfortably discussing past memories and the beauty of the chalk grasslands around them. The demon smiled softly to himself. It had been so long since he’d been referred to by his proper name, but he wouldn’t trade the moniker of “Sebastian” for anything. Even if it was the former name of some borzoi pet. With his new name he’d been given new purpose, and while he resented it at first, he’d come to feel at home with his new life.

            The violence and authority of the past felt so distant now, even in such an ancient place. He’d closed the book on that chapter of his life. Perhaps Eugene would refer to him by Malphas, and the demon reckoned he was alright with that. There was an exchange of honesty and trust with that. As for Ciel, he hoped he would always be Sebastian.

            _‘I’ll have to tell him at some point,’_ he admonished himself. _‘I’m loathe to admit the others are right, but I can’t keep this to myself any longer. Ciel will only hate me the more if I do.’_

Finding the lodge was far easier than he had anticipated, thanks mainly to his enhanced capacities for scent and sight. It sat as the reaper had described, nestled in the middle of the woods, hidden behind the trees and a ways off from the main road (such as it was, being unpaved and extremely bumpy).

Pulling short in front of the lodge and dismounting from the box he was struck with a sudden notion, _‘What if he already knows?’_ Guilt and anxiety blossomed in his gut and he did his best to fight it down as he opened the carriage door, offering a hand to his master. They exchanged a brief glance, equally questioning. Then Ciel had stalked off and begun to stretch his legs, leaving the demon with more questions than answers.

            The ladies followed, chattering with each other and paying him no mind. Shutting the door behind him, he watched listlessly as the accompanying conveyance came to a halt, Agni mimicking the same actions and assisting Souma from within. Nicky exploded out of the carriage, barking excitedly and running in circles. The prince laughed merrily and scooped the small Spitz up in his arms, rushing to meet his friends.

            Sebastian approached his friend, beginning to help him unload the luggage. “So have you told him yet?” he asked suddenly. He knew he was the one that needed encouragement, but Agni had been there for him already and it was his turn to reciprocate. Besides, it was far easier to focus on the problems of others than one’s own.

Agni paused in his work, straightening up to look over at the back of the demon’s head. “Beg pardon?”

“Have you told him yet?” Sebastian repeated, hefting a trunk with ease and setting it on its end with the handle in view. He laughed at his friend’s confusion as he attempted to work out the ambiguous query.

A steady blush crept across Agni’s cheeks as he unbound the restraints from the roof with particular gusto, determined not to look the demon in the eye. “I… well…” he began awkwardly, recalling the conversation they had shared the week prior by the warmth of the kitchen fire. When he had failed to properly unfasten the cords three times consecutively he gave up with a sigh and rested against the carriage, absently picking at the peeling green paint.

            “What about you?” he redirected, light blue eyes darting to his friend, watching as the line of his shoulders tensed defensively.

            “I’m sure you would have known if I had,” Sebastian sighed. “I highly doubt Ciel would take the matter… quietly,” he phrased delicately. “And don’t think you’re the only one to remind me of the matter: I’m berating myself enough as it is.”

            “There’s an easy way to remedy that.”

            “I know, I know. I just…” the demon sighed, straightening from his task and sitting atop a large case. “I have to wonder if he’s figured it out yet. Perhaps… not consciously. But with all the mounting evidence and his exposure to Miss Sieglinde’s knowledge? He’s bound to know, even deep down, what the truth of the situation is. A succubus wouldn’t hunt him for nothing.”

            “I suppose that is true,” Agni hummed. “Although I can’t profess to know very much about your world.”

            “But if he does know? What then?”

            “Talk to him all the same,” his friend advised. “Whether he is aware yet or not, you’ll have to iron out a lot of details. That’s better done as a couple than on one’s own. Besides, if he _does_ know, do you really want him to be beset with fear and worry?”

            Sebastian nearly blushed, turning quickly from the other butler to hide the embarrassing look he was surely possessing. A couple? That was the first he’d heard the term used in relation to himself and Ciel. It felt surprisingly good. _‘I’m committing more and more to this notion every day,’_ he realized internally. _‘What ever happened to the solitary Malphas, I wonder?’_

            “I’ll head your words,” he assured, fixing his expression back to one of neutrality. “And I believe I’ve allowed you long enough of a delay. You’re avoiding my prior question.”

His fellow butler opened his mouth to retort but closed it with a look of defeat. “There’s no getting around you, is there?” he sighed amicably, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Never,” Sebastian returned with a pointed look. “And I’m more concerned about your affairs, if it is success at all, that is.”

“It is!” Agni retorted, flushing slightly at the admission. “You know me, my friend; I keep to my word… even if I don’t wish to.”

“It was in your best interest.”

“Yes, I truly think it was…” Agni trailed off, much to his companion’s amusement. He coughed and tugged down the collar of his sherwani, revealing a sizable purple bruise at the base of his neck. “If that’s any indication,” he muttered softly, quickly hiding the mark again.

Sebastian quirked a slender brow at him. “ _Rather_  successful, I’m taking it. I apologize, friend, I believe I doubted you for a moment,” crimson eyes flashed to the thick collar then back to the butler’s face. “Though really, it  _is_  a wonder that he can keep quiet even from my range of hearing.” Instantly Agni coughed in response to the blatant suggestion, not bothering to offer a correction. “I suppose then that people truly do live through two personas, mn?” Sebastian finished, smiling with satisfaction.

“I… I do suppose that can be the case, yes,” his companion nodded graciously, side stepping the flamboyant innuendos.

“I must thank you, though,” the demon said, growing serious. The other blinked up at the change of expression, surprise fading into a trademark smile of benevolence as he registered the genuineness of his friend’s words. “My life has incontrovertibly bettered due to our friendship, and it’s you I have to thank for leading me along the right path. I tease you, yet I am equally glad that you’ve found your happiness.”

‘ _If anyone deserves this turn of events, it’s certainly you.’_  he thought fondly, echoing his sentiments from the time before.

Agni offered a humble smile and returned to unloading the carriage, a bit more cheerfully than before. “I am glad that it’s made such a difference to you, Sebastian. I also thank you for your insistence in this matter: I doubt I ever would have approached such a topic otherwise.”

Sebastian nodded in agreement and stretched before finishing his work. “Speaking of our masters,” he pressed gently. “I believe we should go and attend to them now; they’ve been far too quiet, so you know something must be transpiring.”

            Agni laughed and nodded his agreement, picking up one of the more moderate pieces of luggage. He’d been yelled at by his friend enough times to leave the heavier pieces to the demon: it made him happy to know Sebastian cared so much for his physical being.

            They approached the lodge, its front door ajar from their companion’s inattentions. The front of the building was a bit more dilapidated than Sebastian would have cared for – not that he was shocked: with Eugene as its sole caretaker for nearly eight years, it was bound to be in some state of disrepair. He had seen more than once how the man kept his work station and living quarters; it made him twitch uncomfortably to see such dirt and clutter, nearly to the point of a fit of nerves. It was an aspect of his personality that made him a wonderful butler yet a somewhat neurotic person.

            “Looks like it could use a bit of dusting,” Agni commented lightly.

            Sebastian snorted, “A bit?”

            “I suspect you’ll have fun with this one?” the other smiled teasingly.

            “Providing I don’t feel sick from it first,” the demon grumbled. He winced as he stepped upon the porch, listening to the groaning of the wood beneath his feet. _‘What, do I need to rebuild the whole damn structure, too?’_ he sighed in exasperation. _‘Although it would make the straightening up easier.’_

            If the exterior of the old lodge gave the butler pause, it was nothing compared to the inside. “What the bloody hell…” he exhaled in a rush, frowning instantaneously.

            The most prominent feature – aside from the abject mess and abundance of spider webs and caking of dirt – was the most expected for the hunting lodge: a collection of mounted guns and taxidermy animal heads, chiefly antlered bucks. Everything got worse from there.

            Foremost, the entire building reeked of a familiar combination of arsenic salt, ethanol, and formaldehyde. _‘Does that man bring the stuff with him everywhere?’_ Sebastian lamented. The scent had faded but remained strong enough to be detected by the humans in his company. He wrinkled his nose in distaste, the lingering stink overpowering to his senses.

            The curtains had grown moth eaten, the once rich blue fabric faded from the weak sunlight that streamed in from the splinter-encased windows. The lazy light bathed the space, casting it in a yellowy haze. It gave an appropriately nostalgic feel, interrupted only by the strange array of décor: half-finished caskets and framed mourning art and wooden markers scattered about the three room structure. A large mirror with a busted frame hung on the wall beside the fireplace, discolored with misuse.

            Bones and furs and taxidermy projects lay everywhere: on the rundown couches, on the makeshift benches pressed along the walls, on what had once served as a kitchen table. Some sat bleaching in glass containers, pearly white ribs and skulls peering out at them from where they sat. Anatomical models were strung, some secured on wooden plaques, while others had been hung from the sloping ceiling.

Ciel approached one such set, a column of spinal vertebrate decorated curiously. Between each bone was tied a small velvet bow, alternating in shades of scarlet and plum. Along the surface of each vertebrate someone had taken a tiny brush and painted scenes of nature cycling through the seasons, spring at the top of the piece terminating in winter where the pelvic bones would rest. Little does, badgers, sparrows, and rabbits punctuated the scenes, crisp images still beautiful after the passing of time. Gingerly he smoothed a finger across a lower depiction, wiping away the dust that clung to the porous surface.

There was a strange feeling of nostalgia that came with it, a sort of déjà vu that he couldn’t place. Foreign words rippled back to him from a distant memory, “I will live for the both of us.” He paused, bewildered and increasingly upset. _‘The both of us?’_ he repeated. _‘Who are the both of us?’_

Turning the artwork gently, he examined the unpainted backside, an inscription scrawled across the lowest vertebrate in an uncomfortably familiar hand. “Merry Christmas 1885,” he murmured. “For my darling Ciel and C –.” But something had caught his eye, distracting him from the text. He withdrew into his coat, reaching for his concealed pistol.

Eyes darting wildly, he peered through the half-light at the wooden crates beneath the crudely constructed bench nearest to him. The shadows distorted with slow but certain movement, and Ciel bunched, ready to shoot. His mind was racing: he knew it should be no more than a harmless rat or errant fox, but he couldn’t help the sudden rush of terror. It had been a lasting reminder of his time being kidnapped; the uncertain and the threatening sent him into near panic at a moment’s notice.

When the offender came into focus he felt no more relieved. “ _Sebastian!_ ” he growled in alarm. The demon perked up immediately, rushing to his side in a mere second.

“My lo –,” the demon’s words cut off in his throat as he stared in shocked surprise at the thing as it twitched. A solitary arm wriggled about its container, hand twitching, groping forward and lightly scratching at the wood with nearly nail-less fingers.

“I… I think I’m going to be ill,” Ciel stuttered out, turning from the disturbing sight and clinging to his butler’s arm.

Sebastian allowed himself a measure of public affection, petting the younger’s hair consolingly, never moving his eyes from the flailing limb. He wondered how recently the undertaker had visited to have reject parts of his Bizarre Dolls lying about. He felt a strange twinge of humanity. _‘What would the families of these bodies think? Are they missing them?’_ he cast a look to Ciel, noting his pale complexion.

The earl’s face contorted into a venomous snarl, glaring up at his butler. “So that’s where this place came from?” he accused. “ _That’s_ how you found it?”

His biting words belied the message beneath them: _‘You fucked him again; you went behind my back again.’_

Sebastian lowered his gaze, unable to meet that of his master’s. “I’ll do whatever I must to keep you safe, Ciel,” he whispered. It felt strange to say the other’s name so plainly, but it had the desired effect, the earl’s eyes widening in surprise. Ciel relaxed considerably, obviously filled with confusion and a tentative feeling of trust. He unlatched himself from his butler’s arm, turning to the room where his friends waited expectantly, worry on their faces.

“Undertaker has been here,” he announced as calmly as he could manage. “He’s left some… pieces… of his Bizarre Dolls behind. They’ll need a proper burial,” he added a bit kindly. “I certainly won’t be sleeping in any place with them… crawling… about.”

Souma shivered, sinking into Agni’s side. “How does that even happen?” he practically squeaked. “If they’re just parts how do they move?”

“They have a consciousness,” Sieglinde answered grimly. “They don’t need a brain to operate because pieces of the deceased’s soul resides in those parts that remain. They’re not… sentient, per se. Just capable of searching out the living, I suspect.”

Sebastian extracted the wriggling arm and cracked it decisively before them. The limb gave a spasm, then stilled. The lingering trace of soul licked at the demon’s palate. He could feel his pupils threaten to contract into slits. “You all should wait outside,” he spoke in a strained tone. “I’ll bring what pieces remain for burial once they’ve been… properly dealt with.”

Ciel paused, staring at the demon as he threatened to come undone. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since the man had fed and a stirring of fear uncurled in his abdomen. He nodded curtly, not wanting to see the scene that was bound to unfold before them. He gestured for the others to move, brooking no dissent.

The small group filed out behind the lodge where a measure of forest had been cleared to form a garden of sorts. In the near-decade of disuse, it had quickly become overgrown and the stone walls and well were crumbling beneath the elements and the weight of weeds and vines. Ciel sought out a stretch of hip-height grass that seemed to have avoided becoming invaded by briars. He turned to the group at hand and gestured over the expanse.

“We should start by cutting down the grass,” he mused, eyes sweeping the yard before landing on the form of a nearly-dilapidated garden shed. “There should be some tools in there.”

Agni began to wade through the grass, shooting the others a smile, “I’ll begin by retrieving the proper tools.”

Iris helped Sieglinde to settle on one of the more stable portions of the garden wall before she plucked at the side of her skirt. It fell away to reveal a set of knee-length trousers and a matching set of stockings. Ciel instantly averted his glance, still flustered at seeing Nina Hopkin’s influences in fashion. The maid left to accompany Agni, leaving the three young charges alone once more.

“That Undertaker person,” Souma said, setting a wriggling Nicky down in the grass. “I never was able to meet him before the Campania – what is he like, Ciel?”

The prince and Sieglinde both looked over at Ciel expectantly and the earl sighed, leaning up against the wall and surveying the grey forest beyond. How would one even _begin_ to explain Undertaker?

“Well, he was a friend of the Phantomhive family for a long time,” Ciel winced. “Probably a lot longer than I originally anticipated – he was particularly close with my father and… I believe my grandmother as well,” Ciel thought back to the chain of mourning jewelry he’d retrieved from the mortician at the Campania, and the curl of hair bearing his grandmother’s name. “Obviously, he worked as an undertaker for many years, but before that he apparently worked with the other grim reapers.”

“A grim reaper…” Souma repeated, “Sieglinde told me that they take the souls of the dead and move them to the afterlife. Is that right?”

Ciel nodded, not shocked that the witch had divulged information about the supernatural to Souma. “That’s the gist of it, yes,” he nodded. “I’m not really sure how Undertaker fit in to reaper society, but I guess you could say he was retired by the time I met him. I certainly had no indication that he was still out and about in that capacity, at least.”

“What could have precipitated the events of the Campania?” Sieglinde frowned, toying with a loose strand of hair. “Reapers are usually so neutral and morally upright in everything they do. Not to say that they’re by any means perfect, but…” she tilted her chin, trying to puzzle the answer out. “It seems pretty unusual for a reaper to take up reanimating the dead. It just seems counterintuitive to their whole cause, doesn’t it?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” another voice chimed in. Sebastian leaned against the back of the lodge, gracelessly depositing a pile of limbs. “Careful,” he added to his fellow servants. “There’s some odd bits in there: noses and viscera and the like.”

Ciel paled with a purse of lips. “Please continue,” he implored, beckoning his butler over to the crumbling wall. Sebastian nodded briefly and approached, growing thoughtful.

“I must apologize for interjecting,” he prefaced. “I simply knew that a human’s perspective on the affairs of the supernatural would only be so encompassing.”

Sieglinde grinned enthusiastically, keening forward to listen. It was obvious she was eager to learn anything the demon had to offer, and for a moment he entertained the notion of having a private session with her, sharing what parts of his world he could and answering her questions. Perhaps he’d save that for another time.

“To begin, one must understand the interworking of different races,” Sebastian began, looking slightly troubled. “Frankly, many supernatural beings keep to themselves to the point of intentional exclusion. The incubi and succubae – as you know – detest demons as equally as they’re detested by demons. The two groups grapple for power and try to upset the equilibrium constantly.

“Lesser demons, however – mostly referred to as anima demons – were the result of weaker Hell demons reproducing with earthbound spirits and deities. As such they exhibit animal features: ears, skills, reactions. Hence, ‘anima’ demons. This sect of demon is mostly disregarded by other supernatural beings as they are more peaceable and get along with races like deities and the fair folk.

“These parties are generally neutral, not taking sides in times of conflict. Reapers are very much the same way, except they dislike those that interfere in their work. Seeing as a reaper’s job is to protect humans and ferry their souls to the afterlife, they tend to have a strong dislike of those that consume souls, such as demons of my caliber.

“As far as… Undertaker… is concerned, he’s eliminating that threat altogether. His ideation is to create a ‘perfect’ human that will continue to ‘live’ even after death. Their souls then won’t be ferried on, nor will they be floating loose to be consumed by errant demons. In a way, they’re protected, but they’re also prevented from finding peace. The reality is that the creature – he calls them Bizarre Dolls – is only a reanimated corpse with limited senses. They’re doomed to relive only a fragment of their total memories, although I suspect he’s been working on improving that aspect,” the demon’s expression soured.

“Regardless – as both Ciel and I have seen – these Bizarre Dolls can be created in such a way that they react to stimuli including words and are somewhat capable of generating an appropriate response. But that’s been some time now, so it’s uncertain just how much more… refined… they could have become by now.

“I think when it comes to Eugene he’s paradoxically a figure of death and afraid of death. Maybe not his own, but the concept of losing others appears to frighten him. So he tries to cheat that inevitability altogether, tries to make humans more like him, more immortal.”

“Eugene?” Ciel echoed, staring straight into Sebastian’s eyes.

The demon froze, realizing his slip of the tongue.

“The land over here is ready!” Agni called out, unknowingly interrupting them.

“Excellent!” Sebastian called back, not looking away from Ciel. The earl’s expression became reserved and he dropped his gaze, ignoring all those around him. There was a scent of sadness about him, which quickly flagged as his look grew more disinterested. Sebastian could feel the wall between them grow more solid once more.

Regretfully he turned to his fellow maid and butler, rolling up his sleeves and securing them at his elbows. “Great work,” he applauded them, grabbing a shovel. Working quickly, he began to upturn the loose dirt, displacing it into a growing mound. Agni shot him a worried look, eyes darting back to the dejected form of Ciel as he halfheartedly tried to maintain his conversation with his friends.

Sebastian forced a smile and shook his head. They could always talk about it later but it wasn’t presently a good time. If he could help it, they’d never talk about it.

The ground quickly fell away to form a mass grave and the servants sat back to wipe at their brows and straighten their attire. Souma and Ciel approached them, eyeing the now-motionless pile of discarded parts warily. The earl in particular couldn’t help but fear that they’d suddenly spring to life once more, no matter how childish the notion sounded.

Buffeting his courage, he strode over to the limp parts and selected what remained of a leg: mainly foot with greying flesh. It was a lot more bearable when it wasn’t twitching, he found, and the smell was less horrid than he’d feared. For something that had been presumably dead for quite a while, it only emanated a faint odor of preservatives and bodily musk.

Eager to be rid of the thing, he approached the grave and gently lowered the appendage to the ground. In reality, he just wanted to toss the damned thing but he knew it would be a final sign of disrespect to what was once a living being. The corpse had suffered enough indignation, he figured.

Kneeling by the grave he acted as part of an assembly line system, accepting the bits and pieces Souma picked up and laying them to rest himself. It was sad, really, thinking that so many people – bits of people, really – would end up to such a gruesome and anonymous end. It was worse even than those bodies who were stolen as cadavers for medical practice, he figured. At least they served some benefit to society postmortem. But these poor souls…

He eyed Sebastian subtly, fighting the shiver that coursed through him. He’d never been particularly religious, especially not after the fire, but he was clued in enough to know that God or not there was something more in the universe than just the human populace. There was… something… and he wasn’t keen on knowing all the details.

Still, it was scary to think that there was nothing for the souls belonging to the scraps of flesh he passed from his hands to the earth. No matter what they had been in life, they had ended up a meal for a demon. There would be no final peace for them.

As he began to nestle the final limbs into the shallow grave a glint of something caught his eye. Curious, he paused in his motions, bending over the exposed burial to paw at the dirt beneath. Scraping away the earth, his fingers found something cold and hard. With a frown he excavated further, revealing a circular band of metal. Extracting it with care, he held the ring up before him, twisting it this way and that as small clumps of dirt fell from its surface.

It was a pretty gold band done up in simple repousse: intricate little leaves, flowers, and scrolls etched into the surface. Ciel could tell it was a poesy ring, and he had to rub at the interior of the band to reveal the words within: _In love abide till death divide._

 _‘Strange,’_ the earl thought, slipping the wedding ring into his pocket. _‘That such a thing should be found buried. Strange, and sad.’_ He felt an odd twist of pity. He knew it hadn’t belonged to his parents, and given those that seemed to come to the lodge, the owner could only have been one person. _‘Why would Undertaker have tried so hard to get rid of this?’_

He watched absently as Sebastian and the other servants returned the loose soil to the grave, covering up the unsightly tangle of limbs. Decreeing the deed done, Ciel turned and headed back into the aging building, determined to set his mind to something else. With effort he unearthed a few sheaves of paper, a pen, and ink that had managed not to completely dry up yet. Brushing away a collection of scalpels with the back of his arm he cleared an area at the table at which to work.

_9 October 1893_

_Dearest Lizzy,_

_I must foremost apologize if you have sent me a letter in turn as it will be some time before I receive it. Due to ongoing circumstances I have yet again relocated. This I find regretful as I much looked forward to your advice._

            Ciel paused, biting his lip. How much was he really willing to reveal? He knew that he had to be some manner of truthful: after the attempt on his life, he could only imagine where the succubus might strike next. He had already worried for Lizzy’s safety, and he would be forever guilty if anything were to happen to her or her family as an extent of his situation.

            _I fear that I can no longer protect you by keeping you ignorant, and so must divulge to you the following:_

_Alongside the factory burnings I mentioned previously, there has also been a recent attack at the London Estate. I wish to assure you that all are safe, although the violence itself was directed towards myself. I have come to suspect that it has less to do with a personal vendetta against me, but rather against Sebastian. It seems as I am being used as a means to an end, however the danger is ever present._

The earl groaned to himself, tempted to scratch out the last few lines or start over entirely. That was sure to keep the blonde from panicking, he berated himself.

            _I do not wish to worry you, as I feel the situation is quite handled. While the assailant is yet unknown to me, I come ever closer to unveiling the truth of the matter at hand. I hope ardently that no trouble comes to you, although it may be foolish of me to think that it won’t. I beg you to be on your guard and to be prepared to protect your family as needed. While the –_

Ciel paused once more. _‘What am I to write, ‘monstrous bird’? That’s bound to come across as sane.’_

            _While the individual in question proved a challenge for even Sebastian, I have no doubt that both you and your mother could tackle such a villain. I have faith in you._

He sighed, pursing his lips. He knew what his cousin’s reaction would be without having to see it for himself. No doubt she would be eager to come to his rescue whether he felt he needed it or not. He was loath to admit that he might just feel more comfortable with her there.

 _‘That’s selfish of me,’_ he chided himself. _‘She’s much safer at home with her family. They may need her there beside. Her well-being is far more important than my relative comfort.’_

_Please do not worry about me, dearest cousin. The matter will be over shortly and I will be restored to you once more. I hope this letter has not distressed you, but I wish to be open and honest with you as well, and the truth is not always pleasant or comforting. Please know that I trust you implicitly._

_Sincerely,_

_Ciel Phantomhive_

            With a sigh he sat back in his seat, staring out the dust caked window at the murky silhouettes of his companions still gathered in the garden. It seemed rather metaphorical, in the moment. _‘Well,’_ he amended lightly. _‘No option to be just an observer now.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This chapter marks the ending of the first part of The Sum of Our Parts, as it were. Thank you for following us thus far! The next ten chapters will make up the second part, and we have two out of eleven chapters of the third and final part completed. Since this part does not end on a cliffhanger, we mighttttt be taking a couple weeks off from posting to work on the third part so you won't have to suffer and wait an indefinite amount of time for the third part once we finish posting the second. You'll find out if this will be the case by next Thursday. Much love you guys, hope you enjoy!


	11. Asphodelus Ramosus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, CheshireCity here. I'm updating the story this time because ChocolateMoosey's computer is fried and she's waiting on her new one. Apologies for this chapter coming out a day late: in addition to computer troubles we've had Internet connectivity problems, and seeing as we live together we couldn't do much about it. Hope you enjoy this chapter and the ones to follow it! Chapter 12 will be released in two weeks on Thursday, August 4th.

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Eleven**

**Asphodelus Ramosus**

“ _When I am dead, my dearest,_

_Sing no sad songs for me;_

_Plant thou no roses at my head,_

_Nor shady cypress-tree:_

_Be the green grass above me_

_With showers and dewdrops wet;_

_And if thou wilt, remember,_

_And if thou wilt, forget._ ”

—Christina Rosetti

            In the moonlight, North Wessex downs looked like a faerie world come to life. Smooth hills made up the majority of the scenery, covered in a carpet of green that looked eerily black in the silvery light. They were marked through by flats of pastures dotted with the sleeping forms of brown cows and goats. A lone shepherd dog stirred as a dark figure creaked and groaned down a rough path that cut along the gentle undulations of the downs. The animal watched for a moment, ears pricked, before settling down into the grass amongst its charges. The dark figure, led by a massive black dray horse, came to a stop at a pond from which the livestock watered. There was a _snick_ of a match being struck and a gas lamp burst to life behind the dray, revealing a pale, hooded figure heading an ornate black hearse.

            The man climbed down from the driver’s seat and held the lamp aloft, releasing the horse from his tethers and leading him by the bridle to the pond’s side. The amber light cast weird shadows over the sleeping forms of the goats, hovering there for a moment before returning to the horse’s side. The man set the light down near the lip of the pond as the dray lowered its head and began to drink. A pale hand stroked the animal’s withers.

            Dropping the hood from his shoulders, Eugene Fehr exposed himself to the night air and tilted his head back, taking in the milky expanse of stars spilled above him. The reaper settled down beside the dray horse, clasping his hands between his knees and allowing himself to be overwhelmed by the celestial sphere stretching out above him.

            Eugene Fehr had seen the world crumble at its edges time and time again. He had seen the Reapers of Rutherford fall to the hands of the invaders of Normandy. He had seen the exodus of his follow reapers to the New World, and seen them sow their seeds deep within its soil. Eugene Fehr saw the brewing power struggle betwixt the demons and his kin – he had been the voice to prevent it from boiling over. He had built and shaped and commanded until his hands were worn rough and calloused.

            Yet in all those years he couldn’t even save two.

            Oh, there were many more. Yes indeed there were _so_ many more that he had carelessly lost — especially in his youth, when he had been a blissful fool. His mother and father were wiped from the earth, and only he was left to tell the tale of those that had raided his home and disgraced his mother, spilling his father’s blood on the threshold. The same slaughtered the almighty reaper family March, leaving one broken little girl in their wake. The very one he was supposed to protect.

Time after time, the heads of the Phantomhive line burnt out in their prime, leaving him to play mentor to their progeny. When Claudia had died, Vincent had run wild – tromping over every life that stood in his wake, carelessly throwing the feelings of others into the flames as long as they stood in his path to glory. And Eugene – despite his encouragements, was unable to reach the youth, ending in him being devoured by that flaming cascade.

And when Vincent had died in the very flames he’d all but brought upon himself, Ciel and Cecil had perished alongside him – or so he had thought. He failed to protect either – the twin who had died slowly, painfully, on a slab of marble and the other who had turned to selling his soul to a demon in desperation.   

            Eugene Fehr had made many mistakes.

            Loving Clairice Hochstedler was certainly his worst.

            Still yet, in the stagnant air on the mouth of the pond, about to end Ciel – the godson whom he had failed to protect at Vincent’s request – he remembered Clairice. It had been the same time of year in the midst of the birth of fall, when she laid there in the grass surrounding their home, her hair spread over his lap. Clairice had looked up at him and requested plaintively:

            “Kill me.”

            He could not.

            Because he had loved her, he let her live – because he had loved her, he had let them suffer. His wife and child had died at his hands – _in_ his hands – because he had loved them too much.

             From the folds of his cloak, he extracted his last reminder of her – the little charm inlaid with white blonde and silver hair had been left in the hands of his godson, alongside all those other bitter reminders of those he had let down. Gently, he set the scythe down beside him and laid down upon the soft grass, looking into her eye sockets forever encapsulated in metal.

            “Hullo darlin’,” he said softly to the scythe, reaching out to brush his fingers over the cheekbone. “Isn’t the sky lovely tonight?”

            He cradled the scythe to his chest, the blade sticking out of the back of her skull sickly. After years of leaving her in the ground, he could not bear to leave her behind again. A lock of hair behind a sheet of glass was not punishment enough: he needed to comprehend the depths of his failures. To have them attached to him every waking moment. Dipping her bones in metal and affixing her skeleton to his scythe… it was sick, yes, but it was the kind of perversity he needed to remind himself of. The corpse of the person he’d most loved attached to the reminder of his deadly influence. Death followed him around because of what he was, and he couldn’t afford to slip.

            Not like he had with Malphas.

            He remembered thinking: ‘ _Maybe it will be different this time_ ,’ the moment they had pressed their lips together. Their bodies sought each other like a pair of animals in heat, groping around in the dark. Split lips and clawing hands. But over time the snapping teeth had turned to gentle nips and the scratches had morphed into caresses. And slowly – _stupidly_ – he’d found himself helplessly in love. It was impossible not to, really. Malphas had everything he loved – strength, humor, intelligence, and enough gall to challenge Eugene on every turn, offset with an underlying contemplative gentleness.

            It _was_ different – but it was different in the way that set up for a perfect disaster. Malphas was a Prince of Hell, and contracted to the very person Eugene sought to save, at that – and to top it all off, Malphas was very much in love with Ciel. But he guarded his emotions so well that Eugene was uncertain if the affection or the hunger would win out in the end, and that uncertainty forced his hand.

            Years of agony, of waste. Every Bizarre Doll whose words turned to shrieks and garbled words. Lovers who he could reunite. Children he could return to their parents. Each a victim of their own mortality – not a single one taken at the appropriate time. Heartbreak and fear and anger and grief. He saw it all reflected in the eyes of their families, of their peers, of their loved ones. These were people taken in their prime and he longed to prolong the inevitable – to _fix_ what nature had so cruelly taken. If demons could play God with souls, why not him?

            Just recently he had bought a fresh cadaver off of a medical school: a woman who had died in childbirth. Her husband had sold the body in desperation to help raise the child that had been left behind. Her body had already been so sickly flayed by the time he’d rescued her – the stomach opened up to expose the expanded uterus, the breasts flayed to show off the swollen milk ducts. He’d poured his love and empathy into every stitch as he’d repaired the body to the best of his ability – making her human again, rather than a plaything to manipulate. He supposed he was the worst kind of hypocrite in that manner, but that was okay as long as mother and child were to be reunited by his efforts.

            Her soul had been easy enough to retrieve. It had evaded the novice reaper sent to fetch it and had stayed close to the infant’s side, hovering around the shambled little home where she’d lived, trying with all her might to manifest in a human form. He’d welcomed that brilliant little soul into the cup of his hands, learned her name and her secrets, gently repaired the shredded ends of her cinematic record, and watched with a rush of hope as her eyes had opened once more.

            She had gotten to embrace her child, had stroked his hair and been held by her husband while she rocked and whispered sweet words to them both. She’d told her husband she loved him, told her child how darling he’d always be to her, had sighed into her husband’s arms and gone limp when the fresh heart Eugene had sewed into her chest had given up and the repaired cinematic record ran dry.

            The fallout was always the most painful part: the look of unabashed joy, crumbling into despair twofold, and eventually replaced by revulsion and horror as the doll took over and began scrambling violently for flesh. Eugene had managed to remove the Bizarre Doll before husband or child could be harmed, but he’d been forced to quell it moments later in an alley a short ways away when it wrestled out of his arms and began to shriek. The scythe had shredded her to twitching bits before he gathered up the tethers of her soul in his pocketbook. The partial skeleton on the back of his scythe served as a never-ending reminder for his hubris every time he failed.

            Too little of a soul and the Bizarre Doll would remain just that: a doll. It was a shell of a person, guided by the cinematic record and what little whim the soul’s remains provided, but it could live for days on end. Too much of a soul and the doll became a supernova: brilliant in its momentary glory after death, but the hole it created in the fallout was devastating.

            He’d taken what remains he could with him in order to give them a proper burial, but had been left with the sinking feeling that the brief reunion he’d been able to provide the family had done more harm than good. Was it really what they had wanted, or was he just projecting his selfish needs onto others as he always did?

            Eugene didn’t know, but he allowed himself to be tortured and soothed all the same. He was making himself neurotic, driving himself insane. There were days he felt like his hands didn’t belong to himself, times he’d realize he’d been lying in bed and staring at the wall for hours. He felt like his mind was elsewhere – chasing the shapes of people long-dead and let down while his body went through the motions of trying to repair the damage.

            And as he worked, he thought of Ciel: an un-killable body, an unending soul. He was on the precipice of finding the balance between record and soul, of decay and preservation. He had to make it perfect. Tonight.

            Time was running out with the harpy on Ciel’s heels. It would only be a matter of time before it shredded his body beyond repair and Malphas took his soul away, leaving Eugene with a dead end and another failed promise.

            There was nothing more he regretted than having to prevent the formation of the soul Ciel and Sebastian were creating together. It wasn’t Eugene’s choice to take it away, but he was certain it would be less painful than having a living child die. He’d experienced enough and had always regretted not ending things when Clairice had originally asked him – before Sara’s soul had time to form. He knew he was sick for denying Clairice that, especially when she was already dying so early in the pregnancy. He hated himself for encouraging her to live, for telling her that she had a future to live for – that their child did. How they’d love and care for her and treat her well despite her struggles. How they could change the way their world looked at beings such as her: as people rather than abominations or hindrances. He told her that she could make it through, and that their life was still beautiful and not at all worth giving up.

            And Clairice had taken up his hands and nodded in agreement, weeping.

            It was only when the midwife had shoved his dying daughter – his gasping, blue-faced, goat-eyed, beautiful little daughter – into his hands and hissed “I hope _this_ was worth your wife’s life,” that he realized the weight of his mistakes.

            “Not again,” Eugene said to the skeleton cradled in his arms. “No more.”

**Xxxxxxxxxx**

            Ciel sat before the roaring fire, curled up on the stone surround. The hunting lodge had faced a thorough clean up, chiefly expedited by his own butler and at length the place had begun to feel habitable. The strange trappings and half-finished projects had been relocated to the shed, which apparently housed fewer tools than it did antique guns. The earl thought back to the painted spine from earlier that morning and felt a wave of discomfort settle in his bones.

            _’That would have been the year I turned 10. I never would have received that gift because by Christmas everyone assumed that I was dead.’_ He watched the licking flames for a moment, just feeling the warmth against his chilled skin. _‘I didn’t even remember him giving us presents,’_ he paused, noting the oddity of his thought. Well certainly the undertaker must have given his parents something, being an Evil Noble and all. They were some sort of friends. _‘I don’t remember him giving_ me _presents,’_ he restated for himself.

            It was unsettling to be so pointedly reminded of his gaps in memory. So much had been forcibly blocked out that he was no longer certain which were memories and which were dreams. What things were just the fantasies of a jaded child who was trying to piece his life back together. It made Ciel uncomfortable, not decisively knowing his own history: everything that he was, all that he had built himself up to be was of his own construction. The Ciel that he was now had only existed for nearly eight years.

            _‘Would he have told me?’_ he couldn’t help but wonder, turning his thoughts back to the mortician. _‘Would he have reminded me of everything I’ve forgotten? Would he give me that semblance of personal history again?’_ He wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to know the truth, even as it dogged his heels constantly. The older he became the more he seemed to run into family ties and acquaintances, people that claimed to have met him when he was a child. He couldn’t remember them and that proved frustrating: how was he to decree who was trustworthy or not without knowledge to fall back upon? And so he fell into the habit of guarded associations, trying to protect himself from finding out their unreliability the hard way. It was a difficult way of living.

            It wasn’t helped any by the numerous people who kept his past a secret from him. He knew it had to do with the elderly house steward, Tanaka. If anyone knew about his youth, it was him. But it seemed that once Sebastian had restored him to the Phantomhive Manor all mention of his past had likewise been erased. Ciel had spent hours in secret searching for old photographs, paintings, heirlooms, toys, anything. Anything to tell him who he should be and how to act. Back then he couldn’t feel anything at all. Everything was numb and automatic.

            But Tanaka would have known who and how he was. Lizzy, too, and her entire family. Nina, his seamstress, who openly claimed to have measured him for clothing since he was at least a toddler. Diederich, his father’s most beloved friend and former classmate. His aunt, for as long as she had been alive. And of course Undertaker himself. All of them could have helped him, could have lessened that pain and existential fear for him. But none ever did.

            He wondered how different he had become. Was it difficult for the others to see him? For them to watch him morph into something he never would have become? Were they disappointed? Ciel didn’t like to dwell on such thoughts, but they found him regardless in the stillness of night.

            With a sigh, he broke himself from his reverie, turning towards the rest of the room. Someone had found a collection of woolen blankets and afghans, and many of his companions were ensconced with them. Souma, weary from the events of the day and likely having little sleep since the attack of the winged creature, had passed out on the sofa and was snoring softly. Agni had taken pity on him and had gently covered him up, resolving to sit by the side of the couch wrapped in a blanket of his own choosing. He spoke with Sebastian in quiet tones, the only member of the party who seemed utterly unaffected by the weather.

            Iris sat by one of the windows, absently playing with her mistress’ hair as Sieglinde lay across her lap. They spoke gently to one another in muted German far too fluently for Ciel to grasp. At length the ex-Bürgermeister rose and stretched, declaring that she was going to bed. With her maid’s assistance she made it to the only other room in the lodge, a bedroom with two mattresses done up in heavy comforters. Ciel had obtained the other bed, although not by his own choosing. Sebastian had asserted his master’s need for the other bed and – quite strangely – Agni had quickly relented, agreeing that it was ‘for the best’.

            _‘Whatever that means,’_ Ciel mused to himself. _‘No matter; I should get to bed soon myself; I’ve had a trying couple of days.’_

            Before he could rise from his seat he found Sebastian at his side. He looked almost… bashful? Embarrassed? Extremely un-demon-like, whatever it was. “Would you mind taking a walk with me, young master?” he intoned quietly.

            “A walk?” the earl repeated dumbly. “Outside? It’s freezing out there!”

            “You can have my coat,” the other offered. It was a bit comical to think of, given their significant difference in height. “I know it won’t exactly fit, but it should offer some warmth.”

            “Alright,” Ciel answered slowly. If Sebastian was coming to him to talk out the recent events then clearly something more was up than he was presently aware of. Perhaps the demon just felt guilty over clearly acquiring the lodge from the reaper himself.

            With a sigh Ciel allowed himself to be led to the front door and dressed. Following the demon outside, he shivered against the bite of night air against his cheeks. “Don’t take too long,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. Sebastian shut the door behind them and followed slightly behind his master at a leisurely pace.

            Savernake Forest was beautiful at night, the otherwise grey trees turning silver in the moonlight, the carpet of bluebells looking almost illuminated and phosphorescent. They had yet to bloom, forming a lush blanket of soft green grassy stalks. _‘Humility and gratitude,’_ he recalled vaguely. _‘What a fitting backdrop for an apology.’_ He had spent many an hour in his cousin’s company as she worked on her needlepoint or planned the arranging of flowers. He by no means held the extensive knowledge she did on the symbology of each plant, but bits and pieces remained with him.

          He turned in place, expression set. “Clearly you wished to talk to me privately,” he said evenly. “What is it?”

            Sebastian faltered, running a gloved thumb across his fingers. It was a nervous habit that the earl had noticed in him, one that wasn’t exhibited often, save for the occasional instances when clutter and dirt greatly distressed the other man. “I’ve something to confess,” he began softly.

            “If it’s about Undertaker, that much is transparent.”

            “Ah, well…” Sebastian sighed, dropping his gaze a moment. “I didn’t mean to upset you by this,” he admitted. “I knew you would never command me to seek him out, but we both know that he holds a lot of answers. The creature that attacked you, for instance, is called a ‘harpy’. It derives from an anima demon mother and a father reaper.”

            “Hence your in-depth explanation earlier,” Ciel pieced together. “Go on.”

            “They appear as giant birds, as you know,” the butler continued with a slight frown. “Modernly they’re known as soul-snatchers, and it seems they’re aptly named. Their point of weakness is an open chest cavity through which the heart can be removed. Ordinarily, this alone will kill the creature, however, should they obtain a soul, they will run off of that until it eventually disintegrates. They can thus survive without a heart so long as they consume a steady amount of souls.”

            “How disgusting,” the earl returned flatly. “So then what we must do is clear, right? How difficult would this be to take care of?”

            “Theoretically, not very,” Sebastian mused. “But… it did vex me in our earlier fight, so I can imagine it will only be stronger should we encounter it again.”

            “Which we will,” Ciel added bluntly. “So this you found out from Undertaker?”

            “Yes,” the other admitted. “He was rather forthcoming. As I’m certain you guessed, it was him who passed over ownership of the lodge. It’s intended for you, of course, as it was your father’s.”

            “I see,” the younger curtly nodded. A frown creased his brow. “But what does a harpy have anything to do with a succubus? The two can’t possibly be unrelated?”

            “It’s my guess that the succubus is controlling the bird,” Sebastian hedged, growing visibly uncomfortable once more. “She’s using it for her own purposes.”

            “Curious,” Ciel squinted. “That she should focus on attacking me if the main threat to her power is you. Does she simply find me that valuable to you?”

            Sebastian fought down a plethora of answers, each equally important as the last. “She’s not after me,” he admitted. He could feel his heart pounding off kilter in his breast. He stood on the precipice of change, willingly about to freefall over the edge. “She’s attacking you because –”

            “Good evenin’ love,” a familiar voice drifted over to them in a curious lilt. Both demon and master stiffened, whirling around to face the reaper that stood a few meters off. “‘Ope I wasn’ interruptin’ somethin’ important?”

            Sebastian glared after him fiercely. Even if his hearing wasn’t as good as a demon’s it was still better than a human’s and there could be little doubt that the reaper knew exactly what he was about to say. “What are you doing here?” he hazarded, fighting the urge to place Ciel entirely behind him.

            “I think you know why I’m ‘ere, Malphas.”

            “Malphas?” the earl repeated in surprise. Sebastian could feel his master’s eyes upon him, but he refused to look away from the danger.

            “You’re not going to do that,” he returned evenly. His elevated heartrate only increased and he hated the fact that it would be easily detected in the aura of his own soul. Of course Eugene would know how unsettled he was, the bastard.

            “Sorry, love,” the mortician lightly shrugged. “It’s for the better.”

            They sprung at each other in unison, filled with intention and adrenaline. _‘This can’t be happening,’_ Sebastian thought distantly, tearing the gloves from his hands. His darkened nails extended with the manifestation of his will, sharpening into claws. They drew near and he swiped at his lover’s face, narrowly missing him, but forcing the other man to stumble back a step.

            Closer to the lodge, Ciel had at last registered the situation, eyes wide and face pale. “It was a trap!” he yelled, hands shaking as he made to steady his drawn gun. “It was a fucking trap!” he turned his glare at Sebastian, the accusation clear: you led us here; you betrayed my safety because you were too blinded by your own lust.  

            Guilt racked the demon, but he drove it from his mind long enough to focus on his next attack. His enemy – Eugene, the man he’d come to… no, he didn’t want to think of it – stood squarely across from him, posture relaxed and ready to tense once more. He lacked the scythe he bore on the Campania, something instead glinting in his hand. Before Sebastian could clarify what the knife-like object was it was flying at his chest, driven forward by the reaper holding it.

            Sebastian feinted at the last moment, side stepping the attack and whirling around to scratch at the other’s back. This attack hit, and with a grunt, Eugene stumbled forward. _‘Shit,’_ the demon swore, launching himself forward to intercept the man. _‘That only placed him closer to Ciel.’_

            When he landed it was to the side of the reaper and Eugene acted quickly to counteract him, slashing out with his weapon and slicing a neat line across Sebastian’s abdomen. Shocked, the demon doubled forward, pressing a palm to his bloodying front. Angered, he ushered forth a warning growl, bodily lunging after the other man and catching him by the shoulder.

            But Eugene was slightly quicker, hammering his elbow straight into the wound he had just inflicted and making Sebastian gasp in a rush of pain. The reaper advanced toward the earl, undeterred as a bullet whizzed by his shoulder, grazing it lightly. Ciel stood his ground, preparing to shoot the reaper dead.

            _‘Idiot,’_ the demon thought, desperately lunging and just barely catching hold of Eugene’s coat collar. With a violent yank he pulled the undertaker down bodily, forcing him to crash to his knees. The demon quickly shifted his grasp, wadding up a cluster of pearly white hair in a fist pressed to the base of the reaper’s skull. He tugged, forcing the man to look up at him, to see the hurt and surprise and betrayal in his eyes.

            Eugene saw all of it and grinned unabashedly. “S’familiar, innit?” he drawled.

            Typical that he should divert from reality.

            “Shut up,” Sebastian returned harshly. He felt like his insides had been scraped out and separated from his body. He should never have been fool enough to trust the reaper. He should never have allowed himself to grow close, to know him as Eugene.

            He had known the risk all along and had stubbornly proceeded, ignoring it. He knew that their differing views of life and worth would remain a sticking point, that it would inevitably drive a wedge between them someday. He just had never expected to feel so betrayed.

            _‘So this is it, then?’_ he recapitulated. _‘In the end your ideals and obsessions were worth more than me? Worth more than the trust I was willing to show you? Well, fool me twice.’_

Eugene’s expression faltered for a moment, redirecting his gaze instead towards Ciel. The letter opener was still held between his slender fingers. Sebastian tensed. The reaper let out a long breath and gently set the paper knife down in front of him, raising his hands in surrender – despite this, Sebastian held fast to the fistful of hair that he’d gathered up.

            Ciel lowered himself to one knee in front of Undertaker and pressed the muzzle of his cocked Smith & Wesson against his temple. The reaper slowly lowered his hands, the mirthful look dying from his eyes.

            “What do you want?” Ciel asked as the sound of their companions leaving the house began to echo into the copse of trees where they stood.

            “I came t’make you perfect,” he responded without hesitation, his chartreuse eyes never leaving Ciel’s. The earl snarled a little alongside Sebastian. He shot the butler a look.

            “As if this weren’t your fault,” he bit before returning his attention to his assailant. Sebastian winced, his eyes darting away for a moment as the earl resumed. “‘Make me perfect’?” he echoed bitterly, the grip on his gun tightening. “What kind of bullocks is that?”

            “Why d’you think I’ve been doing all this?” Undertaker – Eugene – dropped his eyes to the bluebell carpet, causing Sebastian to tug his head up by the roots of his hair once more.

            Ciel narrowed his eyes, “All this?”

           Undertaker nodded towards the lodge despite Sebastian’s grip on his head, “My Bizarre Dolls. They’re f’you. All of this – everythin’ was f’you… to save you.”

            The earl recoiled in disgust as Eugene’s words sunk in. His face wrinkled, curdling in horror, “You wanted to make me… one of those… _things_?”

            Ciel had known about Undertaker’s desires to get him in a coffin, but this was just _perverse_ in comparison. That all those people on the Campania, every one of the students at Weston, every case of bodies creeping out of their graves, every maimed person – were the victims of Undertaker’s insane attempts to preserve the earl like some kind of taxidermy bird suspended in a dive behind a dome of glass. The amount of blood spilled for Ciel’s sake – even though he had no qualms with killing all those who stood in his way, he could not stand to have the lives of so many innocent people pooling around his ankles.

Feeling ill, Ciel pressed the gun into Eugene’s flesh harder, gritting his teeth.

            “What about what you said – how you made the dolls because it would be ‘interesting to see what happened’?” Ciel inquired, eyes narrowing. “I thought you were doing this out of some sick form of curiosity.”

            Eugene smiled, eyes wrinkling in satisfaction as his frame was wracked with weird laughter, “Come now, y’don’ _really_ think I was runnin’ offa such weak motivation, d’you?” he titled his head to the side, fighting against Sebastian’s grip. “I _am_ a liar, aft’ all.”

            Sebastian barked out a laugh, jerking Undertaker’s head roughly back into its original position. Ciel looked at the butler, and felt his lips slant at the look of absolute, burning _betrayal_ that had crossed the demon’s face – he looked on the precipice of pain. Still seething at Sebastian’s previous oversight, Ciel tore his eyes away and met Undertaker’s. The mortician sighed, closing them for a moment before producing a warm smile.

            “I only ever wanted t’keep you safe, y’know,” he admitted, and – although it pained him – Ciel couldn’t doubt that the mortician was being sincere. “I couldn’ – I can’t –.” His face fell and he licked his lips, struggling for words. “I don’ know ‘f you can make it through this,” he admitted, words sounding just as powerless as he looked. He stared up at Ciel earnestly: “I don’ want t’fail again. Let me _protect_ you – please, _please_ le’ me ‘elp you, Ceci.”

            Ciel almost fumbled his gun, the ancient nickname drawing forth grainy images in his mind’s eye: a little hand wrapped around his, big violet-blue eyes gazing hopefully into his own, green eyes crinkled in a smile as black-nailed hands pressed a carved animal into his hands. He lowered his gun, taking a step back and shaking his head as Eugene’s hopeful face fell to despair.

           “You’re sick,” he hissed as Eugene fell limp in Sebastian’s grip and began to shake with laughter once more. Sebastian jerked suddenly as the reaper grabbed for the paper knife on the grass between himself and Ciel, throwing it blunt-side down onto the earls’ foot.

            “Keep it ‘f you change your mind,” he said, his grin bordering on manic. “I’ll always be ‘ere.”

            “CIEL!” Souma cried as he broke into the clearing, startling Sebastian and Ciel both. Eugene threw an elbow into Sebastian’s wounded solar plexus, causing the demon to jerk forward, losing his grip on the reaper’s hair. With an expertly-timed leap, he extracted himself from Sebastian’s hold, spinning in place and dropping into a mocking bow.

            “Now’f you’ll excuse me –,” he began, but Ciel acted first, on impulse. The earl dug his spare hand into his pocket and extracted the dirty little ring that he’d found earlier, holding it out in front of himself with purpose. Eugene’s eyes grew round and he instantly straightened his back.

            Agni and Iris – the latter toting Sieglinde on her back – joined the fray alongside Souma, instantly stopping to observe the situation unfolding. Souma took a step back, falling behind Agni as he stared from Ciel to Eugene.

            “What’s going on –?” he began, only to be cut off by a raised hand from Eugene, whose eyes had not left the little ring Ciel had thrust towards him.

Sebastian was already crouched into a fighting position, ready to strike the moment that the reaper made a wrong move. But every ounce of fight had fled Eugene’s body, replaced by a sort of stunned melancholy.

“Where did you get tha’?” he asked in a low whisper.

“I unearthed it while we were burying the remains of those depraved dolls of yours,” Ciel explained, finally lowering his hand. “You seem pretty determined to get it back, considering you were so bent on getting rid of it.”

Eugene’s eyes darted to the side, expression clearly guilty. Hesitantly, he reached out his hand, palm-up. He didn’t speak, but the desperation in his eyes said everything Ciel needed to know.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” the earl said, pocketing the ring and raising his revolver towards the reaper. “If you want this back, you’re going to talk.”

Eugene bit his lip, lowering his hand as well as his head. His bangs slid to obscure his eyes, mouth returning to an unreadable slant. There was a momentary pause before Sebastian grabbed the reaper by the wrist and twisted his arm behind his back, shoving a knee into his spine to force him face-first into the dirt.

“ _Easy_ love,” the undertaker giggled, “There’r people watchin’.”

Sieglinde snorted loudly, slapping a palm over her mouth. Ciel turned to glare at her before relaxing his stance.

“Sieglinde, Iris,” he addressed the two. “Is there any way you can prevent him from leaving?”

Sieglinde rested her chin on Iris’ shoulder and the two met eyes.

“The Thanatos seal?” Iris inquired, to which Sieglinde responded with an assenting nod. The maid dropped to one knee, letting the smaller witch climb down from her back. Sieglinde rolled up the ruffles of her pale green dressing gown and extracted her emerald and pewter wand from a lace garter. Ciel raised his eyes angrily at Souma, whose attention seemed to be drifting away from the situation at hand.

Iris produced her selenite wand and the two extended their arms, crossing the wrists of the hands that bore the instruments. In unison they began to recite the incantation:

“ _Persephone, we implore thee to bind this creature to the apple tree from which it sprang on Samhain’s eve still its flesh and let it not leave and do no harm to the gentle souls we watch over, ‘til we release it and guide it to do no bother_.”

As they spoke, a gentle light began to emit from the tips of their wands, gathering into a point between them. The white, luminescent ball launched from where it coalesced once the spell was complete, hitting Undertaker in the shoulder with a loud sizzling noise. He hissed in minor pain when it connected and a circle of the bluebell carpet a meter in diameter below him began to glow a soft shade of green. Sebastian immediately released him and stepped out of the circle of the seal. Sighing, the reaper pushed himself to his knees and plopped down on the forest carpet, folding his legs below him.

“Well,” he sighed, propping his cheek up on his palm. “What d’you want t’know?


	12. Dianthus Caryophyllus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry this update is a day late -- hope you enjoy! This was a really fun chapter to write :3
> 
> ~Moosey

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Twelve**

**Dianthus Caryophyllus**

“ _If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more_ _._ ”

—Jane Austen

                  Ciel drew Sebastian’s borrowed blazer tighter over his shoulders, barring his goose pimpled skin from the breeze. Eugene sat before him and the rest of the servants, chewing his lip in contemplation. The earl had just inquired to the mortician about the depth of his knowledge considering the situation at hand. The reaper had nodded and asked for a moment to gather his thoughts. Ciel was about ready to shout – the night was growing ever colder, and his head was beginning to ache due to the weak light source – but just as he was about to do so, Undertaker finally spoke:

                  “N’order to understand the situation at hand, I’m goin t’ have to ask you t’ be patient, because it isn’t a short story.”

                  “Go ahead, then,” Ciel directed, making himself comfortable on a nearby stump. “We have the time.”

                  Souma looked worriedly between the faces of the group before walking up beside Ciel and setting a hesitant hand on his shoulder. “Should we stay here for this?” he asked, “I mean, I think Sieglinde and Iris need to —.”

                  “We do,” Sieglinde confirmed immediately from where she and Iris stood, their wrists still crossed.

                  Souma nodded in understanding, returning his focus to Ciel: “But I don’t know if you’d want all these people overhearing it.”

                  “It’s no matter,” Ciel shrugged. Although he feigned indifference, he was secretly happy that Souma was taking his feelings into consideration.

                  Nearby, Eugene was poking his index fingers together, looking incredibly sheepish. “Abou’ tha’ —,”he hedged, but was instantly silenced by a look from Ciel.

                  “I’d much rather have as many people here to stop you from running amok,” the earl declared, recalling the time on the Campania when Sebastian and two other reapers had been no match for Undertaker. “Anything you need to say, they can hear it too.”

                  Eugene heaved a sigh, dropping his hands to the grass and tilting back his head, “Well, it would’ve ‘ad to been 1870 or so… no, it was October of 1869 when it began —,” a smile split his face. “Oh, I do think you’ll like this’ one, earl. It involves your father — an’ I think a li’l bit o’ motive behind Miss Succubus’ actions.”

                  “My father?” Ciel quipped, eyes growing wide.

                  “Yes, it was when ‘e was in the ‘eight of his guard dog duties – although this case was more of a personal vendetta,” he explained. “It began that fall, when the body o’ ‘is fag was found.”

* * *

                  The flat above the funeral parlor was silent, save for the _plitter-platter_ of rain against the windowpanes. It was another one of what seemed like an infinite line of quiet evenings, stretching out endlessly against the backdrop of time. Eugene Fehr was sitting at his desk, a cup of Darjeeling tea set off to one side. The majority of the surface was occupied by the body of a Turkish Angora cat, forever curled into a little ball asleep.

                  Eugene was just completing the taxidermy with some fixations of silk catnip flowers along her collar when the sleigh bell above the front door opened. He sat back and stilled, wondering who could have managed to pick the lock so silently. A loud, chastising voice and a second drawling one provided all the information he needed as two pairs of feet pounded up the stairs.

                  The door to his flat fell open and Vincent Phantomhive draped himself across the doorframe, flanked on his right by the sour-faced Diederich Faulkenrath.

                  “Good evening, Undertaker!” Vincent greeted him cheerfully, as if he hadn’t just broken into his shop.

                  Eugene concealed a chuckle behind an oversized sleeve. “A good evenin’ t’you, too, Earl,” he turned to Diederich, gesturing towards the moth-eaten couch perpendicular to his desk. “An’ young Faulkenrath! Please, make yourselves a’ ‘ome. Would you like some tea an’ biccies?”

                  Vincent strolled across the flat and made himself comfortable, instantly finding repose upon the old couch. Diederich continued to stand, obviously perturbed much to Eugene’s amusement. Vincent’s friend was perceptive, and had always apparently sensed something off about the mortician and – as such – was frequently uncomfortable in his presence. Eugene would have to push him into a coffin next time – that ought to elicit a fun reaction –

* * *

                  “We don’t have all day, you cockney bastard,” Ciel growled from his perch on the stump. Eugene paused in his story, looking sincerely let down.

                  “I thought you jus’ said you ‘ad all night –,”

                  Ciel cocked his revolver, as if to make a point. Eugene raised his hands in a peaceable gesture and continued.

* * *

                  “I assume you know why we’re here?” Vincent inquired, picking up a stray book that Eugene had left resting on the arm of the couch and leafing through the pages.

                  “The boy from your school, yes?” the mortician returned. “I’d thank you for providin’ me business by sending ‘is body ‘ere, but I’d imagine it ‘as more to t’do with your doggy duties, hmn?”

                  Vincent laughed and beckoned the uncomfortable Diederich over to the couch. The boy stared at the furniture as if it were infected and sat next to Vincent, looking appropriately grim for the situation at hand. Vincent’s lilting smirk never left his face, hazel eyes aglow with the thrill of the chase.

                  “Actually, not this time,” he provided. “It’s far more personal; you see the boy who recently passed away – Ezra Petit? He was my fag.”

                  Eugene raised his eyebrows, “I’d usually be surprised you’d take a personal interest, but –.”

                  He was interrupted by an embittered scoff from Diederich. The black-haired boy glared at Vincent. “Oh, he was more than content to let the Yard handle it until he found out that Richard Durless prat was piddling around in the investigation.”

                  Vincent’s expression instantly soured at the mention of his rival.

* * *

                  “Well?” Souma interrupted. “Who was he?”

                  Ciel looked about ready to chastise Souma for interrupting, but looked confused as well.

                  “I’m genuinely curious – I didn’t know of any uncle or cousin named Richard on my mother’s side of the family,” he said, much to Undertaker’s vast entertainment. The reaper was overtaken by peals of laughter.

                  “Oh, we’re gettin’ to tha’,” Eugene steepled his fingers, continuing with glee. “For just a day after your father so kindly burst into my flat, this ‘Richard’ came to visit, carrying on ‘‘is’ own investigation of the matter.”

* * *

                  That morning, the sleigh bell jingled as the front door swung open, alerting Eugene who was in the back room working on the autopsy of the unfortunate Ezra Petit.

                  “Excuse me?” a soft voice called out. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

                  Eugene set down his scalpel and stripped off his apron. Lowering the cloth mask from his mouth, he stepped out into the storefront where a young man was standing hesitantly beside the door. He was dressed in what Eugene recognized to be the full Weston uniform, his traveling cloak decorated with the Violet Wolf emblem. His face was soft and effeminate, framed by long strawberry blonde bangs – the rest of his hair was drawn into a queue at the nape of his neck.

                  “’Ello there, guv,” Eugene greeted him, propping himself up behind the counter. “Wha’ can I do for you?”

                  “This must come across as terribly unprofessional,” said the boy, crossing the room and stopping at the other side of the counter. “But I’m looking into the death of Ezra Petit. I… was made aware that this was the establishment that his remains were brought to. I’d like to ask you some questions in consideration to the state of his body.”

                  Eugene drummed his nails on the counter, regarding the boy with an intrigued gaze. Even to Eugene’s slightly sharper senses he smelled… different. He was clearly carrying a hex sachet on him to ward off malicious supernaturals – which was strange enough for a young man – all witches were females– but there was something about that sugar-drenched scent that didn’t quite—

                  Suddenly, the young man turned bright red.

                  “Ah! I’m so sorry – I haven’t even given my name!” he realized, looking sincerely apologetic. “I’m Richard. Richard Durless.”

                  It clicked.

                  Eugene grinned toothily, “Ah yes, a dear friend of mine is engaged to the eldest daughter of the family – a young woman by the name of _Rachel_ Durless. You wouldn’t ‘appen to be a relative of ‘er would you, ‘Richard’?”

                  The young person opened their mouth and closed it in quick succession before coughing, their voice noticeably intentionally deeper, “Ah, yes. Uh. She’s a cousin of mine from, uh —.”

                  “Well,” Eugene all but slid off of the counter, rounding it to clap a hand over the other’s shoulder. “Should I call you Rachel or Richard? Your secret’s safe wif’ me, poppet.”

                  They shrunk a little into their cloak before smiling sheepishly. “I’ve heard from a few reliable sources that you’re incredibly discreet,” they said. “And knowing that, Rachel is fine.”

* * *

                  “My _mother_?!” Ciel gaped at the reaper, interrupting the story again. “You’re telling me that my _mother_ posed as a _man_ in order to go to Weston?!”

                  “A veritable _Sweet Polly Oliver_ , wasn’t she?” Eugene quipped, humming a few lines of the ballad under his breath.

                  “This detail seems incredibly farfetched,” Ciel returned, folding his arms across his chest. “How do I know you’re not trying to fool me again?”

                  He was interrupted this time by Sieglinde. “You honestly think a woman wouldn’t do anything necessary in order to get a proper education?” the young witch asked, arching an eyebrow. She and Iris had eased to their knees; their wands were still yet crossed, but resting on their laps in exhaustion. “The only reason I got into University was because of the Queen’s recommendation. There are very few women there, and there’s an _incredible_ struggle for us to be taken seriously. I’d have thrown on a pair of trousers to get into University _years ago_ if it hadn’t have been for Her Majesty’s influence.”

                  Ciel sighed. “Fair enough,” he directed his attention back to Eugene. “Carry on, and you most _certainly_ better not be making up a tale,” he threatened, making sure to visibly rearrange his gun.

* * *

                  “I’m curious,” said Eugene. “Who’s let you know about me? Earl Phantomhive certainly seems… reluctant to share his findings with you.”

                  Rachel made a face as she removed her top hat and set it beside her on the coffin where Undertaker had directed her to sit. “He’s a prat, but I would have thought he’d let us work together for Ezra’s sake instead of making it a competition,” she said. “No, I heard of you from a woman named Avis O’Neal – a bean sí.”

                  Eugene nodded; unsurprised to find out about the girl’s supernatural associations due to the scent of the hex bag she carried on her. “So you’re a witch, then?”

                  “Yes,” Rachel confirmed, no trace of artifice in her tone. “And it’s my duty as a witch to prevent malicious supernaturals from harming humans. Due to the details of the… ‘mutilation’ that the Yard provided, I’ve come to believe that this murder was associated with an incubus or another demon capable of…” she blushed, pressing a delicate hand to her cheek. “Well, ah—.”

                  Eugene raised a hand, signaling his understanding; he didn’t wish for the poor girl to become too flustered, “Unfortunately, your suspicions are correct.”

                  Rachel hung her head and nodded sadly. “I feared as much,” she raised her eyes slowly. “I… I need to confirm, however. Will you show me the – will you let me see Ezra?”

                  The reaper blinked, taken aback; not even Vincent had asked to inspect a body before, even on an investigation. “Are you certain –?”

                  “I need to be absolutely positive it wasn’t a mutilation. I need to see it with my own eyes,” she confirmed.

                  Eugene nodded. “Tha’s fair,” he assented. “One moment, I’ll fetch the proper things.”

                  Within moments he had returned with a smock and a mask for the young witch. She removed her cloak and blazer, unbuttoning and rolling up the sleeves of her dress shirt before slipping on the appropriate garments and following Eugene into the back.

                  Ezra was spread out over the cooling table in the back, a cloth obscuring his face as Eugene worked. It was a personal preference of Eugene to cover his clients’ faces; even though he’d been in the business for years, it still helped him to depersonalize the experience. Quite boldly, Rachel stepped up to Ezra’s head and peeled back the cloth with a sad little gasp.

                  “Oh Ezra,” she murmured, her eyes clouding over with tears as she replaced the cloth. Eugene removed the sheet from the rest of Ezra’s body, taking care to keep him covered from the groin down as to not scandalize Rachel. Her gaze traveled over the massive gash in the boy’s chest that Eugene had recently sewn closed, and reached the cut in Ezra’s abdomen distended from deterioration and — something else.

                  Eugene motioned for her to come to his side, sliding back the flesh and muscle. Rachel looked on; the exposed skin on her face was turning slightly green, but her eyes were set in determination. Eugene finally reached the appropriate organs.

                  “This is the colon,” he explained, gesturing towards it with the blunt end of his scalpel. “That’s where —.”

                  Rachel nodded in understanding, “Its fine. We’ve studied anatomy in class.”

                  Eugene continued on to the massive malformation bundled between the lower intestine and prostate gland. “This is the _androhyst_ ,” he said. “It’s an organ formed from demonic influence on the ‘uman body. It’s made from the same sort of material as the pelvic floor and the reproductive organs. This is what’s used to carry the child. Unfortunately, the ‘uman male body isn’t designed to carry such a weight in this place – the demonic genetics can cause it to adapt this much, but it can’t change form like a demon. This would ‘ave eventually resulted in a perennial ‘emorrhage and broken ‘ips.”

                  “And the child?” Rachel asked quietly. Eugene pulled back from Ezra, moving the disrupted organs back into place. He moved to where he kept the massive icebox pressed against one wall and opened the smallest drawer to extract the remains swathed in white. He cradled them in his arms, presenting it to Rachel, who reached out with a trembling hand and peeled back the fabric.

                  Its skin was shiny ruby-red and translucent and it was tiny enough to fit in the cup of her hands. Its eyes were still fused shut and its fingers still stuck together. Each tiny blue vein and the outline of its still heart stood out brilliantly against its oddly-colored skin. Rachel’s face crumpled in despair, tears flooding over her lash line as she quietly thanked Eugene and returned the body to him. Nodding, he covered it and returned it to the icebox. He turned back to the witch standing beside Ezra’s body; she had taken up Ezra’s hand and was squeezing it earnestly, her body wracked with sobs.

                  ‘ _Vincent, you better treat this kind person right_ ,’ Eugene thought, wiping off his hands and placing them on Rachel’s shoulders.

                  “Obviously the family cannot know abou’ ‘er, so I’ll take care of’er personally. I’ll be sure t’give ‘er a proper burial alongside ‘im,” he said.

                  Rachel nodded, releasing Ezra’s hand. She was still crying, but she addressed Eugene all the same: “Thank you.”

                  She took a moment to compose herself before continuing, gesturing towards the malformation on Ezra, “Only an incubus or some sort of Hell royalty could have done this. But the death wound…” she glanced up at Ezra’s repaired chest, “What did this look like?”

                  “I can tell you t’wasn’t made by an incubus or ‘Ell royalty. They’d’ve done it quick an’ clean-like,” Eugene explained. “This wound was… it looked like carrion‘d found ‘im.”

                  “Carrion?” Rachel repeated, clearly perplexed

                  “‘Ave you ever seen roadkill pecked t’bits?” Eugene inquired.

                  “Pecked —,” Rachel’s eyes widened in understanding. “So it was an avian? Like a cockatrice or a —?”

* * *

                  “Harpy,” Sebastian concluded, eyes hardening. “So you’re informing me that you neglected to tell me about the _same_ —.”

                  “It was the very same creature, I’d imagine,” Eugene mused. “Considering the aunt o’ the boy that sent it t’kill poor Ezra Petit is the very succubus ‘unting our dear earl down.”

                  “A boy?” Ciel quipped, brows furrowed. His heart was beginning to pound as the pieces fell into place. An answer was taking form in his mind but that certainly couldn’t be —.

                  “The very boy who impregnated Vincent’s fag,” Eugene explained. “An incubus, and a Weston student at that. A young man by the name of —.”

* * *

                  “Owen Drown,” Vincent said, his usually carefree features contorted in disgust.

                  He was sitting in Eugene’s parlor upon one of the many caskets, his arm in a sling and braced against his chest. Rachel was sitting beside him, looking worse for the wear. There were bandages around her neck where the harpy had attempted to strangle her to death, and an eyepatch obscured a black eye that Owen had left in his wake. Diederich lay nearby on top his own casket, looking about ready to nod off. He’d suffered the most of the trio, face and arms showing off a number of bandages and bruises.

                  “He fancied me, you know,” Vincent smiled, his eyes alight with rage. “He wanted my _attention_. That’s why he– he– did _that_ to Ezra– to make it a game for the Queen’s Watchdog. Show me that he was worth my time,” Vincent couldn’t even begin to contain his revulsion. “He said he wanted me to know how– _virile_ he was all the same. That’s why – Ezra –.”

                  Eugene held out a cup of tea to Vincent, who accepted it with his healthy hand and turned away his head, glaring bitterly at nothing. Rachel rested a hand on Vincent’s back, stroking it in soft little circles, her expression sympathetic. In all his years of knowing Vincent Phantomhive, Eugene had never seen the young earl take _anything_ this hard – not even the death of his own mother some years prior. Perhaps it was because her death had been natural – due to illness – instead of the result of some perverse game that a lovesick stalker had decided to play.

* * *

                  “In the end ‘s fairly easy t’track down relations,” Eugene explained, coming to the conclusion of his story. “I ‘ad to, in order t’keep Vincent and the lot safe. Despite being an incubus, he was heir t’ a reasonably sizable estate in ‘Ell. They do ‘ave their ‘ands occupied downstairs, too y’know. ‘Is parents were dead, but ‘e was under the care of ‘is aunt. She’s a fairly prolific succubus – head of the succubus coven Piuthar An Nathair Glas,” he frowned, “Although she never did come after Vincent. Probably not too fond of ‘er charge.”

                  “And that’s all you know?” Sebastian pressed.

                  “‘An tha’s all I know,” the mortician assented with a little nod of his head. “I can’t say for complete certain ‘f she’s your gal, but I doubt there’d be any other succubae with a ‘arpy at their disposal. So, I’m bettin’ she’s your lass.”

                  Sebastian nodded and turned to Sieglinde and Iris, who looked about ready to pass out. “You may lower your wands.”

                  Sieglinde looked up, startled, “But —.”

                  “He shall not return again,” Sebastian said thinly, turning towards the undertaker. There was a ripple in the atmosphere and the shadows around him ebbed and flowed, their edges becoming disturbed and jagged. “I will make _absolute certain of it_.”

                  The two witches exchanged weary glances before dropping their wands. Instantly, the glowing green circumference around Eugene faded to nothing and the reaper took to his feet, beating the stray grass off of his coat. He exchanged a glance with Sebastian – weary and regretful on his end and hurt and enraged on Sebastian’s – before he turned to Ciel. He took a step towards the earl, but a snarl from the butler prevented him from approaching further.

                  “If you might —,” the reaper began tentatively, flinching when Ciel pelted him with the ring. Eugene knelt to pick it up, running his finger over the band before slipping it into his coat. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, jerking his head towards the letter opener still lying in the grass. “Like I said, I’m always —.”

                  Sebastian growled again, silencing him, and the reaper ducked his head, flipped up his hood, and silently walked into the forest.

                  Ciel watched him go wordlessly. He could hardly process all that he had heard. He didn’t want to, it just didn’t make sense. But with everything that had gone on – the aches in his ankles, the sickness, the lethargy – he couldn’t ignore the truth any more.

 _‘I’m pregnant,’_ he told himself in disbelief. ‘ _I, a male human, have somehow… this is ridiculous. Absurd. I…’_ the implications weighed heavily on his mind. In less than two month’s time he would be nineteen. Certainly old enough to have married and fathered a child. But this? This he had not anticipated, never would have dreamed.

                  But why else would a succubus and her harpy be after him? Eugene had seemed to see through him then, seemed to understand everything so clearly, just as he always seemed to. _‘That story wasn’t a coincidence,’_ he shook his head slightly. _‘He knew and he wanted me to know. He wanted me to understand the danger I’m in, even if he has his own twisted ideas of how to protect me.’_

                  “Young master?”

                  Ciel looked up abruptly, feeling miles away. He willed his mind to clear, noticing that his companions had already gotten up and moved indoors. Sebastian stood before him, hand extended and looking concerned. _‘Could he have protected me more than you?’_ he couldn’t help but ponder. _‘Even you only intend to kill me in the end.’_

                  But all of the demon’s actions, all of his hedging and unusual attempts to remain close throughout their fights, all of it made sense now.

                  “Leave,” the earl growled, overwhelmed with hurt. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t used to Sebastian’s protectiveness: he knew it was only the demon’s means of protecting his investment.

 _‘Of securing his meal,’_ Ciel reminded himself bitterly.

                  But to think that those motivations had changed, that the real reason for his sudden concern, for his desire to be close to the younger man, for the reason he fought so fiercely: all of that was just to protect his progeny.

 _‘This has nothing and everything to do with me,’_ Ciel thought regretfully. _‘And yet he’s only bound to see things his way. How could he ever see_ me _in this picture? As a person? As part of this… this…_ child’s _life.’_ The word was hard to even think. Child. It made everything feel entirely too real. _’All I can possibly be to him is a vessel.’_

                  Sebastian’s hand didn’t waver but he looked reproached, eyes widened slightly in alarm. “Leave?” he repeated slowly. It was out of character for him not to take to orders immediately.

                  “You heard me,” his master returned coldly. “I need to be alone.”

                  The demon hesitated, a spectrum of emotions passing over his face. At length he looked away, on the precipice of saying something. Then he thought the better of it, closing his mouth with a small snap and nodding to himself. Walking away, Ciel noticed his hands were balled into fists.

 _‘He had to have known,’_ he realized. _‘All this time and he had to have known. There’s no way he could have been ignorant to his own… ability. To the fact that my scent must have changed. Why didn’t he say anything? Why was it not important enough to tell me?’_ he looked to the letter opener angrily, it’s intention suddenly clear. _‘Did he not want me to have a choice? Was he so determined to ensure the life of… of his_ heir _that he would strip even that from me?’_

                  Anger and fear and resentment flooded him, memories of the past surging forward like water dredged by a net. There were so many times when he wasn’t given a choice, when his autonomy was forcibly taken from him. Ever since the fire, ever since he’d been starved and beaten and assaulted and thrown in a cage he’d been dancing on the knifepoint of other people’s blades. First the cultists, then Sebastian’s whims, then the Queen’s.

 _‘Looks like he won out, in the end,’_ he considered tersely. _‘This contract has never been anything more than a game to him, some way to pass the time. We’ve always been at each other’s throats, always played to our advantages, made insult where possible, always scrabbled for the higher amount of power and control._

_‘That’s all this has ever been about, hasn’t it? Control. And I guess he’s taken the lead, despite me. He decided to hide all of this, to keep me in the dark. And for what? His own amusement? To see me struggle? And why should his actions come at my sake?’_

                  Ciel was old enough to know that choices had consequences: that was simply a matter of life. He understood that his society constrained him, laced him up and suppressed him with strict etiquette and moral beliefs and propriety. But he also knew that life was about freedom, about the exercise of choice, about the beauty of autonomy. He knew enough to realize that in the past eight years he’d been stripped of these things entirely.

 _‘I am no one’s puppet,’_ he seethed. Overwhelmed with feeling, he bent to pick up the knife, lifting the tails of his shirt and pressing the blade against his abdomen. In the cold of the October night air the metal was cold, biting against his flesh. He pressed the tip harder, feeling it puncture and tear at his skin. Wincing, he sensed the small trickle of blood from the shallow wound. _‘Sebastian will probably smell this,’_ he concluded distantly. _‘Will he try to stop me? And if so, why? No, let him know what I’m about to do. I shouldn’t care, I shouldn’t care at all.’_

                  Gritting his teeth he prepared for the pain that was to follow. Already he found himself shaking, small tremors coursing through his arms and making them unsteady. _‘Why?’_ he cursed himself, gripping tighter on the handle of the letter opener. _‘I won’t be a coward, not about this. I will make my own choices, lead my own life. I don’t need to be tied down by a man, no, some_ demon royal _who can’t even see me for my own worth.’_

                  Still the trembles persisted, slicking his palms with sweat. As if caged, his heart began an unsteady and rapid rhythm, fluttering desperately. The wound in his stomach was beginning to sting. _’I can’t back down, not on this. I can’t, I…’_

                  The knife fell from his fingers and Ciel bent forward, cradling his stomach in his hands. The first sob choked forth, the backs of his eyes pricking tellingly. _‘I can’t_ … _’_ he repeated despairingly. His forehead came to rest on his knees, not wanting to see the heated tears that were trickling down his cheeks.

 _‘How am I supposed to do this?’_ he wondered worriedly. _‘How… how does this even… work?’_ Even with the undertaker’s explanation, the whole process sounded dubious. He knew his body had developed a pseudo-womb due to the demonic blood his… child… carried. But he also remembered the warnings along with it: external hemorrhaging, broken hips. A whimper tore from his throat. He knew he had always been slight of frame: it was a feature that had frequently been commented on by the leering older boys of Weston.

 _‘Will this kill me?’_ his thoughts began to race. _‘I can’t do this, I can’t, I can’t. I can’t leave this child all alone. I can’t deprive him of… of a… father. I know what that’s like, I know it way too well. I can’t let them be alone. I can’t leave them to uncertainty. I can’t do this, I can’t give them that life only to ruin it before they take their first breath.’_

                  But he couldn’t end it, either. As the letter opener pierced his flesh, he’d known. He couldn’t do it. In all of the bloodshed that he’d caused, all the lives that had been lost as a direct result of his orders and coldhearted dismissals; he couldn’t bear the thought of destroying the small light growing within him.

 _‘Why?’_ he questioned cynically. _‘Why not this time? I’m not attached, I won’t allow it. Even if… even if I make it, there’s still Sebastian. There’s still our covenant. One day soon I’ll be dead and gone. Devoured. And what will that leave them with? A broken family.’_

                  Family. The word stuck in his mind, echoing over and over again as silent tears fell steadily into his lap. He knew that was the true reason. _‘I’m selfish,’_ he whimpered. _‘I’m selfish and afraid. I’m clinging to this because it feels like hope and I’m being foolish enough to even entertain the thought that it will fix things. A child won’t fix anything. They can’t bring back my parents, they can’t make me feel whole again. They won’t make me any less alone. I can’t put that on them besides. I can’t rest the whole of my hopes – of my happiness – on a baby. It’s not right and it’s not fair.’_

                  Yet the tantalizing promise remained. Ciel screwed tight his eyes. He wanted to just stop time, to suspend it in that moment forever. To prevent the inevitable. To put off the choice he had to make.

                  To put an end to things before they grew more complicated. To go back to life as he knew it and try to forget the whole ordeal ever transpired. He could finish out his vengeance; put his own beleaguered soul to rest.

                  Or to move forward with the pregnancy and risk death. Death at the hands of a succubus, at the claws of her pet. To risk death from other demons, from those enemies Sebastian must have accrued. To risk death from the child – from the pregnancy itself – from the threat of his body breaking down as it attempted to perform as it was never meant to.

                  He knew what the easy option was. He knew that safety and familiarity could be within his reach. That he could reclaim it for himself with his own two hands. And yet, he couldn’t shake the tremulous feeling that he would be left besotted with regrets.

 _‘What if I can have a family again?’_ the persistent thought came to him. _‘This may be my only chance. I could start over; I could become something bigger than myself. There’s no other way I could obtain such an ideal. I could never burden Lizzy with the reality of my situation. I could never give her a child, only to abandon them both because of the promises I made to a demon as a child myself. So my only shot at this, of finally having a family again… but no, this isn’t right. This isn’t right and this isn’t what it means to be… to be a parent._

 _‘But what if I go ahead with this?’_ he couldn’t help but wonder. _‘How would I manage? I have property, a title, considerable fortune. But who could I trust? Who would raise this child? I know nothing myself about what a baby needs, I don’t know how to raise an infant. I’ve never held a child in my life. To think of a man raising a child, and alone…?_

 _‘Then should I find a nursemaid, some sort of nanny that can care for them? Can I trust them with that? With discretion and a lack of questions? What would I even say? Simple searching would reveal that I’ve never been married; I can’t just claim that I’m a widower. I clearly didn’t adopt, either. They’ll be out of wedlock as it is,’_ he winced in embarrassment, ‘ _But in such cases it’s the mother that keeps the child._

 _‘I suppose,_ ’ he continued with uncertainty. _‘That I’m the… the mother, in a sense. But I don’t have a mothering bone in my body. I don’t know how to be gentle, how to be patient. I… I could always learn. I’d be willing to do whatever it took, but_ _what ability do I have to raise another human?’_

                  Darkly he wondered just how human they’d be.

 _‘With their demonic blood, how would their… father… even view them? Would Sebastian even stick around? Would he… would he_ take _the child?’_ Fear coursed through him. The thought of anyone doing such a thing, of taking away his family, of subjecting them to the sort of discord and despair that he had known? No, he would never permit that. He would never let them experience such hardship.

 _‘A child that is half demon. What would they even need? How different would that make them? Would they be… dangerous? Could I provide for them what they need? Could I even hope to protect them? And then…’_ he thought back to the things he’d discovered. Sebastian, no, _Malphas_ , Hell royalty and who knew what else. A titled member of demonic elite. _‘Would all of Hell chase after them? Would they be expected to have royal duties? To inherit titles? Land?_

_‘I know nothing of demons. All of this time in his company, and I still know so little about Sebastian. Would he have told me about himself, about his culture, his way of life if I had asked? Why did I never care to ask? All the things I could have learned, squandered. And now I’m left with a child who would be endangered by my own ignorance._

_'Is it even possible to remedy that oversight now? If not Sebastian, who do I even have left to turn to? He told me himself that demons are hated by all other races: I can’t beg askance of anyone else. If he left could I contract again? Surely Sieglinde would know of some way to intentionally summon a demon, even if that knowledge is taboo for her kind. But would that other demon even help, even if I gave them anything they desired? Would they just abuse my lack of knowing? Would they hate this child for being another demon’s?’_

                  He was scarcely aware of how audible his cries had become, warping into little whimpers of anxious fear and desperation. _‘Did I do this to myself? It was me who made that stupid, childish order. It was me who got so jealous I wanted to show Sebastian that I owned him. I’m so fucked up. I fear having my own freedoms stripped from me and yet I’m the first to take them from someone else. I’m such a hypocrite.’_

                  Guilt clenched at his heart and settled in his gut. _‘I know he’s a demon and I know that he’s as selfish as I am but have I hurt him? Does he resent me for that order? Will he abandon me – this child – because of it? I know now I made a mistake and I can never, ever take that back but who all have I really hurt by it? I’m horrible, a horrible person. What kind of parent could I even hope to be?’_

                  He recounted Eugene’s story, how that bird – the harpy – had been used to kill. How it had been used against him for similar reasons. _‘Why does some succubus want me dead? Want to kill this child? What threat could they or I possibly pose? Is it just because it’s so unnatural? Are they trying to pass judgement on my acts? On Sebastian’s?’_

                  Then the most terrible thought of all struck him. _‘Should I just let them kill it? Them,’_ he corrected belatedly. _‘Should I just do this myself? Should I… should I let them kill the both of us? Should I just bite the bullet and end all of this?’_

                  He caught sight of the discarded letter opener, his blood just barely staining the blade, and began to cry anew.

_‘This should be my decision, this should be my choice! And yet I feel so, so trapped. I don’t know what the answer is; I don’t know what is right. I can’t bear this, I can’t do this. I’m too selfish, too scared.’_

                  But in his heart, he knew what his answer would be.


	13. Clematis

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Clematis**

_“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.”_

– Charlotte Brontë

            Sebastian awoke on Friday morning feeling entirely out of sorts. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and patted his hair into submission, growing vaguely aware of the man at his side. Agni smiled down kindly at him, looking a little flustered by their situation: he knew that the demon butler scarcely slept, especially in front of others.

            “Sorry to disturb you, my friend,” he ushered quietly. He sent a quick look to the remainder of the bedroom where the others slept on the floor or the beds.

            Fighting down the embarrassment that threatened to color his cheeks, Sebastian willed himself into wakefulness. He had meant to be up hours prior – as was his custom – yet it seemed that the fighting and discord of the last few days had worn him thin. He and Ciel still scarcely talked and he wasn’t entirely certain if he should approach him again on the matter. The earl deserved his space, but that wasn’t to say Sebastian wasn’t concerned that Ciel would mistake his distance for indifference.

            “Is something the matter?” he asked, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. Already he was rising to stand, straightening his clothes.

            Agni drew close, face creased with concern. “It appears we have a visitor,” he returned lowly. “She’s out on the main road – her coachman delivered her card. Isn’t that strange? I thought no one knew we were out here, save for… well, I just thought we were completely hidden here?”

            “As did I,” Sebastian returned darkly. “That doesn’t bode well for any of us.” He shot a look at the sole dusky window in the room. Through the grime he could see the weak stream of early morning sunlight and the bellies of grey clouds. “And who on earth comes to call this early?”

            “It’s a mystery to me as well,” his friend whispered. “You don’t think, that, perhaps, well, maybe that reaper sold us out?” he stammered, looking uncomfortable. While he wasn’t entirely clear on what transpired between the mortician, the earl, and his friend, he understood enough to realize that something intimate had occurred.

            “I…” Sebastian faltered. He wanted to say ‘no’, he really did. But with how things had progressed, he was no longer certain he could vouch for the other man. His lover. Ex-lover? He no longer knew, nor did he want to think about it. “What does the lady look like?” he asked instead. “Or her servant, for that matter?”

            “She looks well dressed, very wealthy,” Agni recounted. “Her coachman… well he appears to be all manner of unpleasant. He was surprisingly short and had a strange walk. I don’t mean to sound condescending, but between the two of them they seemed…” he trailed off pointedly, eyeing his friend. “Well,  _different_. I thought it would be best if you could evaluate the situation.”

            “You mean to say that they aren’t human?” the demon queried. The other man blushed almost instantly.

            “Ah, I meant that in the nicest terms possible, Seb –.”

            “I know what you meant, and it was a valid concern,” his friend replied distractedly. “I’ve no reason to think you mean ill; even now that you know me for what I am you choose not to act any differently towards me. For that I thank you.”

            “Of course,” Agni smiled, leading the way quietly to the main room and approaching the front door. By its side rested a leaning coat rack and a small table balanced upon a book. Its face was badly beaten and topped with a wooden crate meant as a receiver. “It is an adjustment, I admit,” the other pressed. “But… you are still the same Sebastian as ever, are you not? I would still like to consider you as my friend.”

            “I suspect we shall always be friends,” Sebastian assured him.

            The two exchanged appreciative looks and Agni indicated towards the wooden tray. “There’s the card I was talking of; what do you make of it?”

            Sebastian picked the thing up: it was gaudy (as far as his aesthetics were concerned) but undoubtedly connoting both wealth and power. Fluffy pink fringe clung from the card’s edges, a luxury only afforded by the most socially elite. Its face was intricate, as society mandated of aristocratic humans – Sebastian, for his part, was thankful that the French invention had never quite caught on in the demon realm; he could only imagine the sort of ornamentation his kind would choose to decorate their calling cards with.

            Carefully he examined the wreath of printed flowers: lilacs, roses, and forget-me-nots wound together in an ornate wreath. In their center was a scene of a pond with cattails, along whose surface floated a majestic swan with pure black feathers. Beneath was a banner with French written in a curled hand, “Je te penserai à.”

            “I think of thee,” he translated under his breath. His fellow butler crowded in as he lifted the wing of the swan to reveal the name of the caller: _Mlle. Cosette Madeline Brun_. A scent as smoky as sin clung to the scrap, and beyond it the human senses could pick up the spritzes of her perfume, the earthiness of neroli and thyme coupling with a sweet orange flower.

            Assaulted by the isolated scent, Sebastian realized that he had encountered it before, slicked into the plumage of the snatcher, overpowered by the scent of decay. So here was the succubus at last.

            “What _is_ that?” Agni asked, recoiling from the pungent paper.

            “Eau de Mille Fleurs,” the demon replied with ease, closing the scrap and glaring at the card. “It’s a popular brand of Houbigant; it’s rather clever of her to cover her scent -- what little there is – that way .”

            “Her… scent?” the other echoed, careful not to sound offensive. “Is that something you can… do? Detect scents?”

            “Mnhmn,” Sebastian hummed dismissively, noticing the bent upper corner. “How kind of her to denote that she came in person,” he scowled, stepping over to the slender window that flanked the door.

            Pulling back the ratty curtain he peered through the trees to the main road. It was hard to distinguish from that distance and were it not for his friend’s earlier summation, he would have figured it was beyond Agni’s vision altogether. Faintly he discerned the outline of a sleek black buggy, its squat driver perched upon the box and fiddling with a small pouch or canister of something. _‘Tobacco, most likely,’_ the demon noted with disgust.

            Inside the carriage was a much more interesting individual: a loudly dressed woman with delicate features, curly brown hair falling down in wisps from beneath the confines of a ridiculous feathered hat. Unaware of being watched, she barked something to the cabby, causing him to topple from his seat. The resulting shrill laugh from the woman was enough to make Sebastian wince.

           The demon drew away from the window with interest.  _‘I’d have suspected a young man done up in leathers. Collared, too. Didn’t want to scandalize the poor humans, did we? It’s almost a tad disappointing.’_

“What are they?” Agni asked tensely. His friend immediately saw the stiffness in the man’s shoulders, the worry creasing the corners of his eyes.

            “She’s a succubus, undoubtedly. I imagine the very one behind all of this business,” he began, chucking the card distastefully back in the receiver. “And her cabby is some sort of hob or goblin; I suppose a corgi would be a tad too small.”

            His companion blinked in confusion at the awkward statement but said nothing.

            “I don’t believe that she means any harm – this time – otherwise she would have just attacked straight off. However, she is being… insistent,” Sebastian explained with a note of distaste. “This matter has to do with the young master and myself; I would not worry about it were I you. Do your best to keep Master Souma occupied in the meanwhile; I don’t anticipate any trouble for now.”

            He gave his friend a reassuring pat and guided him back to the bedroom. Sucking a small breath through his teeth he approached the sleeping form of Ciel. The earl always looked so cute when he was too unconscious to act snarky. His hair was splayed out about him – resting chiefly in front of his eyes – and his arms lay curled up against his chest and beneath his pillow. Sebastian had to wonder if his master had always slept in the fetal position or if it was a subconscious way of protecting himself after the trauma he had suffered. It had been the same the entire while he’d known the earl, after all.

            Gingerly, he reached out and gave Ciel’s shoulder a small shake. “Young master,” he whispered urgently. “You need to wake, we’ve a visitor.”

            The other moaned in distress, rolling away from what intruded on his dreams. With a sigh Sebastian tried again, firmer in his actions. Ciel pouted, hiding his face in the crook of his arm. “No,” he groaned, barely conscious.

            “Young master, I _must_ insist,” the demon supplicated.

            “Sod off.”

            “Really now!” Sebastian admonished, having quite enough of the near-daily morning antics. With one grand movement he stripped the covers from the bed, letting them collect at the footboard.

            Ciel started immediately, wide eyed and scowling. He looked about anxiously, settling on Sebastian and fixing him with a glare. “What the absolute –!”

            “We have a visitor,” his butler interjected coolly. “I can only imagine she wishes to speak with the both of us.”

            The younger froze, calculations and plans whirling through his disoriented mind. “The succubus?” he responded warily. At Sebastian’s nod, his expression only soured further. “So what, we’re just going to welcome her in?”

            “If she wished to cause harm she wouldn’t have bothered to forward her card,” the demon explained impatiently. “Were she looking for trouble, I assure you there would be a great deal more blood.”

            Ciel rolled his eyes and scoffed, addressing the butler on the other side of the room. “Would you invite her in, then, Agni?” he asked in much calmer tones. “I’ll be out in a moment, I need to dress. I should like to prepare for this regrettable meeting,” he finished, looking pointedly to his servant.

            “Of course,” Agni returned without hesitation. He cast a look between his friend and Ciel, sensing the obvious tension. Without a word further, he turned and exited from the room and headed out the front door.

            Ciel sighed and watched as Sebastian began their usual routine, unclasping the suitcase and picking out a carefully folded selection of clothes. It wasn’t quite what it used to be, what with missing all the frills and bows and the like. Still, Ciel was anything but unimpressive in his smart ensembles.

            “Do you think she’ll be willing to cooperate?” Ciel inquired as he slipped on his eye patch and allowed Sebastian to strip him of his night shirt.

            “We’ll just have to wait and see. Do you intend to strike some sort of bargain with her?” Sebastian quirked an eyebrow, to which Ciel shrugged as he was helped into his garnet waistcoat.

            “I’ll do what I must,” he answered dismissively. “Just remember that the choice is mine alone.”

            The demon fought the urge to recoil, slightly wounded by the unspoken accusation. “Of course, my lord,” he returned softly. Straightening, he brushed at his master’s hair, righting it from its mussed state of sleep.

            Ceil backed away immediately, clearly flustered: out of embarrassment or anger Sebastian couldn’t discern. “Don’t touch me so easily,” the younger spat, careful not to raise his voice lest he disturb his companions. As if defiance, he made to tug on his own boots, lacing the fronts clumsily in his affected state.

            Sebastian had to wonder if it was getting harder for the earl to bend down in such a way, what with being pregnant and all. Guiltily, he looked away, allowing the fit of independence. “So,” Ciel punctuated. “Is there anything I should take into consideration when talking with this…?”

            “Mademoiselle Brun,” Sebastian supplied.

            “Miss Brun,” Ciel nodded. It was still hard for him to accept that fact that she was something as fantastical as a succubus, despite the fact that he was sitting in a room with a demon noble who was also the father of his unborn child. _‘Things are getting far too ridiculous these days,’_ he grumbled to himself as he finished securing his boots.

            He started as the creak of old bedsprings sounded from the other side of the room. Souma sat up wearily, rubbing at his eyes. He and Sieglinde had agreed to take turns on the bed despite much argument: Souma had insisted that a lady should be treated better while Sieglinde bore no fuss about simply sharing the mattress.

            “Ciel?” he called out sleepily. “What’s going on? Are you going somewhere?”

            The earl froze, not wanting to implicate his friends further. “Not exactly,” he hazarded. “We have an unexpected visitor. You’d do best to stay back here out of sight.”

            “Where’s Agni?” the prince frowned instead, searching about.

            “Entertaining our guest by this point,” Ciel sighed in resignation.

            “I can’t just leave him alone!” his friend exclaimed. “Especially if they’re – and I gather that they are – a dangerous guest!”

            “Which is precisely why you should stay put,” Ciel hissed.

            “Sorry, but no,” Souma countered, hastily dressing himself. “Besides, it’s better to put up a united front, right? It’s not as if they could possibly discern the extent of our abilities just by looking at us.”

            Well that was certainly true. Agni, for instance, came across as completely docile and perhaps even a bit fragile man. In actuality he was highly athletic and incredibly powerful, enough to match even Sebastian. “Fine,” the earl relented. “Just be careful.”

            “I’ll be as respectful as I can muster,” the other assured. “Trust me, okay?”

            “I… okay,” Ciel accepted. It was about time he began backing up his sentiments with action. With a twisting feeling of worry he watched Souma leave to enter the parlor. “Think he’ll be alright?” he couldn’t help but ask.

            “So long as Agni is there to moderate, I would imagine so,” Sebastian answered calmly. “It’s you who needs to be the most informed, however,” he added with seriousness. “You’ll have to check your tongue with this one; she’s far more powerful than you and… frankly, she might be a bit of a struggle for me, as well. Make no threats toward her unless she makes any towards yourself or…” his gaze flickered down to Ciel’s abdomen.

            The younger shifted uncomfortably, filled with the urge to shield his middle from view as shame welled up in his chest.

            “The most important thing would be for my lord to hear her out; it could very well lead to a favorable compromise,” Sebastian continued quickly. “It’s not an outcome I would anticipate, however you may be able to lessen the risk to our company. If she’s willing to parlay with us, then she must not be eager to spill blood so quickly.”

            “Not eager to spill blood?” Ciel retorted incredulously. “Sure, after killing several of my workers in multiple fires and sending that, that _harpy_ after me? You really think she gives a damn about how much bloodshed she causes? No, if she wants to talk it out then it’s to gain something she couldn’t have otherwise.”

            “Perceptive as always, young master,” Sebastian returned thoughtfully. _‘What could she want, though?’_ he wondered. _‘Clearly her primary objective is to rid us of our child. That…’_ he tried to quell his rising anger. _‘That is a matter to be decided by Ciel,’_ he reminded himself. _’But there’s no reason to ask for it. Ciel is right – she doesn’t care about the increasing mortality rate. The harpy is evidence enough that: its sole mission could only be killing Ciel, the child, or both. So what more is she truly hoping to gain?’_

            “Now what was this you were saying about a ‘parlay’?” Ciel interjected with a look of confusion.

            “Why it’s Friday the 13th,” the demon replied obviously.

            “So?”

            “Ah… I forget sometimes that you’re not privy to all of the things that I am,” Sebastian said by way of apology. “Friday the 13th is considered a day of diplomatic immunity: it’s the day when members of any race can talk to one another without fear of being fought or killed; in fact, it’s strictly prohibited among all supernatural beings. To make an attack on a day like this would garner heavy punishment, regardless of the being’s rank in their respective society.”

            “So she chose this day both to protect herself and to show her sincerity of meeting?” Ciel pieced together.

            “Most likely, yes. However, because this date is associated with peaceful bargains and pacts between those of the supernatural races, humans are prone to see it as unlucky or inauspicious – oftentimes humans and their souls are negatively implicated, you see?”

            “So despite all of that, it isn’t a day of safety for me?” the earl returned tersely. “She set it up so that neither of you can attack one another but she is completely at leisure to make an attempt on me without fearing immediate repercussions!”

            Sebastian smiled tightly. “Precisely,” he nodded. “However, you must take into account ou –… your situation… in this matter. You foster a half-demon, and born or not, they are seen as valid in the immunity. Should she actually try to harm you I could interfere without risking execution myself.”

            “Execution?” Ciel stammered in alarm. “Is it really so serious?”

            “Extremely,” the demon returned flatly. “Regardless, it’s better not to remind her of that status; it may be our best time to eliminate her.”

            “Good to see you’re capable of treating children like pawns,” Ciel bit back, brushing past the demon and heading for the door. Without waiting for Sebastian’s accompaniment he entered the parlor, chest tight with anxiety and disgust as he was met with the curious sound of warm laughter.

            Sitting upon the broken down couch as if it was a throne was a waiflike woman who seemed to be a porcelain doll come to life. Her skin was perfectly alabaster with a healthy rosy glow below her morning-grey eyes. Chestnut curls bounced as she giggled and sipped from her teacup. At her side was an attractive beaded clutch a bit larger than Ciel was accustomed to seeing. He eyed it warily at once, not liking that it could conceal so much.

            Souma sat opposite her in an armchair that was losing its stuffing. He bore a broad smile and a comfortable posture, but Ciel was familiar enough with his habits to know he was tense. _‘He never keeps both feet on the floor; if he’s comfortable he crosses one knee over the other or crosses his legs altogether. He looks like he’s about to bolt.’_

            “Good morning,” he called evenly.

            The succubus’ expression lit up into a full-out beam as she spotted the earl. “Oh, la! There you are Earl Phantomhive!” she cooed as if she were addressing an old friend late to a dinner party. “I was just telling young Souma about my experiences in the French countryside. Lovely selection of tea, by the way!” she added, raising the little cup towards where Agni stood quietly in the corner. “Please sit, please sit!” she urged the earl and his butler. “Don’t mind me, I feel awful about imposing,” she blushed appropriately and giggled several more times.

            “Mademoiselle Brun is visiting on behalf of her benefactress.” Souma announced casually, locking eyes with Ciel for a brief moment before dropping his gaze to the steaming tea cupped in his hands. “She’s been a delight to talk with, although I wouldn’t want to infringe any farther on your business.”

            “Oooh, la!” the succubus preened. “No, no, it’s perfectly fine to call me Cosette,” she assured, flipping a ringlet out of her eyes and batting ebony lashes at the prince. “And I certainly don’t mind a gentleman such as yourself joining us over tea.”

            Ciel forced his heartrate to remain neutral as he observed the little exchange. That meaningful glance, the subtle rigidity of his friend’s body, all of it spelled danger. _‘A benefactress?’_ he thought worriedly. _‘Does that mean we’re dealing with_ two _succubae? Shit, things just got a lot more complicated.’_

            “I wouldn’t mind the company, either,” he offered aloud. Since Souma offered his support Ciel wasn’t eager to be rid of him.

            “Why don’t you have a seat here, young earl?” Cosette smiled invitingly. “It would be a pleasure to warm up to one another before we get down to business.”

            Ciel cast a weary look at the woman, who was patting the cushion next to her smilingly. He shot Sebastian a look out of the corner of his eye, which was met with the slightest of nods. Adjusting the front of his waistcoat, Ciel sat beside the tiny woman, who hummed to herself and removed a luxurious black lace fan from her bosom.

            “Is it warm in here? I’m feeling a trifle warm,” she commented airily, glancing about the small parlor. Ciel shuffled and gave a murmur of agreement. In any other situation, he would’ve been shocked at his inability to act civilly and causally with the succubus, yet there was something so unsettling in her sincerely relaxed demeanor that set tiny warnings prickling under his skin.

            “I must apologize for the setting,” he replied in measured tones. It was preposterous to apologize for such a thing, especially when she had intruded on _him_. “This place has only barely suffered an adequate cleaning. As you can see, it’s in need of several repairs.”

            “Oh, I absolutely _must_ recommend an interior decorator for you!” the succubus answered brightly. “He’s a bit of a fop – not uncommon among fairies, really – but he has an excellent eye for design. He could do a wonder with a space such as this!”

            “Thank you,” Ciel returned, trying not to sound stiff. He wasn’t entirely sure what the woman was playing at, but her unsettling casualness had him on edge. He’d rather her aggressive and poisonous than amicable and polite. “Although I must admit that I’m quite curious as to how you found this place – I don’t believe it’s legally recorded anywhere.”

            “Oh, well that was a simple matter!” Cosette giggled, pawing in the clutch by her side. She extracted several folded papers and held them out for the other to examine. “There were still plans that had to be drawn up and signed off on, even if the property isn’t legally registered anywhere.”

            Sure enough, the faded paper revealed the location of the hunting lodge and the nostalgic curl of Vincent Phantomhive’s signature.

            Ciel deflated slightly. _‘So even without whatever happened between Sebastian and that damn man all it took was a little digging to find this place. Is nowhere safe anymore?’_

            “How very astute of you,” he said instead as the succubus returned the papers to her bag. “And I will make sure that my butler collects the reference from you later.”

            Fanning herself slowly, Cosette turned her attentions toward Sebastian and continued to speak in her honeyed tone, “Indeed. You look the sort with which one could have many long talks.”

            “You flatter me, my lady. I am merely a butler, however. I can’t possibly have much of interest to say,” Sebastian said smoothly, the corners of his mouth lilting into a charming smile. Ciel instantly recognized the heated look that came over the demon’s eyes; he had seen it turned onto women time and time again in the duration of Sebastian’s servitude. Though the demon had never outright stated doing so, Ciel had suspected that he had used this technique in order to complete the earl’s bidding in quite an unorthodox manner.

            But the thought of Sebastian bedding any woman — let alone one who had indirectly attempted to murder Ciel and his  _child_ — awakened a burning jealousy within the earl that he would much rather not admit to possessing.

            However, something odd was happening. While most women would melt into a heavy blush once Sebastian turned his tricks onto them, Cosette merely smiled knowingly and folded the fan upon her lap, tossing her hair with a low, melodious giggle. The same heavy look came over her eyes as she leaned towards Sebastian, pressing her breasts together.

            “But how delicious it is,” she said heavily, leaning forward in her seat and further revealing her chest as she did so. A dainty finger encircled the rim of the cup as a devious little grin curled onto her lips. “I would expect a…” she paused to release another dulcet giggle. “A  _butler_  of your caliber would have very many riveting things to share. I do wonder what other services you have to offer, however, outside of serving your _master_.” Cosette brought the teacup to her lips, her pink tongue flashing over the edge of the cup before sipping.

            Ciel’s hands balled into fists around the material of his trousers, an uncharacteristic need to strike the harlot beside him bubbling in the pit of his stomach. From across the room, Souma made an uncomfortable noise, torn between gazing upon the succubus’ womanly assets and feeling discomfort from the lascivious scene played out before him.

            “I apologize deeply, my lady,” Sebastian returned far too sweetly, flaring with indignation. “But I am I afraid that my other services are strictly for my master,” the butler concluded, passing a glance over Ciel and smirking knowingly as the earl blushed and averted his gaze.

            It wasn’t fully true, of course, the whole Eugene debacle withstanding. Still, the bold proclamation inspired a strange warmth in the earl’s breast. _’You can’t win me over that easily,’_ he huffed to himself, not entirely convinced.

            Cosette took the news with a soft giggle, setting down her cup upon her saucer and folding her hands in her lap. “What a coincidence, then!” she announced cheerily. “Such services are exactly what brought me here today.”

            Cosette turned and fixed her poisonously brilliant smile on Ciel, reaching out one of her delicate hands and setting it on his lap. Fighting back the urge to flinch or swat the woman’s hand away, the earl settled for making a sour face, to which Cosette responded with yet another obnoxious giggle.

            “Oh, don’t be that way,” she hummed, giving his leg a surreally soft pat. “I can tell you’re unsettled, you really should relax.”

            Ciel forced a smile but made no motion to do as he was bid. Rather, he felt all the more affronted, what with her broaching his personal space. _’Lizzy would be barking if she could see this,’_ he thought distantly. _‘I almost wish she were here: I’m sure she’d have a bundle of choice words to share.’_

            The heady look returned to Cosette’s gaze as she set her sights on the earl. “Now, lovie, shall we get to business? I’m certain we can work something out.”

            “Certainly,” Ciel bit back as politely as he could muster. He straightened his back and extricated himself from her touch. “I would very much like to discuss the recent events: namely the murderous attacks of your pet bird and the annihilation of my economic property.”

            Cosette feigned an indignant gasp, flipping her hair and crossing her legs for emphasis. “Well! So much for attempting to put you at ease. Though I shouldn’t be surprised,” she pouted, flopping back into the cushions with all the grace of a fish as she folded her arms over her chest. “Carriers are usually impervious to the charms of our race. I suppose it’s because the demon blood is strong enough. It’s all because of that lovely little beastie inside of you.”

            Ciel felt his hand twitch — though, surprisingly, not to strike the woman. Oddly enough, it had nearly flown to his abdomen; the odd action brought upon by a strange defensiveness over the term which Cosette had referred to his child as. Although he was still uncertain of how he felt about the whole concept of carrying and eventually having a baby, the idea of anyone else viewing it as anything other than a child was unacceptable.

            Across the room Souma was moving unhappily in his seat. It was clear he was biting at the interior of his lip just to remain quiet and if he had Sebastian’s senses, Ciel was almost certain he would detect blood. Behind him, Agni seemed likewise offended, a shade paler than normal. One hand rested over the wrist of his other, and the earl understood immediately it was in preparation for the removal of his bandages. He’d not witnessed the power of the man’s right hand in some time and he wasn’t entirely opposed to seeing it then.

            Shaken by his own thoughts and the reactions of his friends he turned, gaze locking to Sebastian’s deceptively calm and even eyes. Something was moving behind those ruby irises and, yet again, Ciel was at a loss to put a name to it. A fraction of a second later, Sebastian broke contact with Ciel’s violet-blue and were locked back onto Cosette’s stormy grey.

            He had noticed the paternal subconscious act: the hand cradled over his master’s belly. He felt his heart beat off-kilter as it warmed to the image. ‘Beastie’, ‘ingrate’, ‘monster’, ‘wretch’ – they were terms he had learned to ignore altogether. Spat out by incubi, reapers, and humans alike, he had spent a good deal of his youth recovering from their sting. Back then he hadn’t been alone, however, having the company of the other Pillars, not least of all Dantalion.

            For the first time he felt the protective wrath that came with being a parent. He could bear the hatred of others, but he’d be damned if he allowed his own child to endure the same depreciating experiences. The conviction stung all the more when he knew how uncertain his own role was in their child’s future. Regardless of Ciel’s choice, however, there was no way in hell he would let him go it alone. He would tear down mountains and divide the seas if that’s what it took to stay by the earl’s side.

_‘Endanger my master, bitch, and I will happily litter this room with your carcass. You will not take from him his choices, and I will kill whoever it takes to protect our child.’_

            He bored into her grey eyes just long enough to make her shift uncomfortably before addressing her. “The _child_ was the reason you came here, was it not?” he could taste the poison slipping into the otherwise neutral words, or perhaps it was simply the copper tang of blood. Truly, he was blessed with genetics that allowed him to brutalize his poor tongue without consequence.

            Cosette purposefully ignored him and made a show of flipping and toying with her thick curls. “You really should sit down; it makes me terribly uncomfortable when people stand about,” she gestured towards the long couch perpendicular to the one on which she sat. “ _Vite, vite s’il vous plaît_!”

            The demon tensed, refusing to obey orders from anyone else, particularly not from a vapid French nymphomaniac. He shot Ciel a beseeching look to no avail. With near exasperation, his master waved him to the couch and so he went to it, elegantly seating himself upon its cushions. The proximity to Ciel was an improvement from his prior position, but still much too far away for his own comfort.

            “Now!” the succubus breathed. “First and foremost I would like to apologize; my benefactress and I agree that we acted rashly in the face of your situation. It was not our intention to come across as so…  _assertive_.”

            “Your pet bird nearly impaled me,” Ciel replied flatly.

            Cosette winced, wringing her delicate little hands nervously. “Be that as it may, we were not attempting to end _your_ life. We decided it would be much easier for everyone to take the little creature out of the picture. You see, they’re a notoriously tricky sort of breed —.”

            “ _You_  decided,” Ciel cocked an eyebrow, standing to cross the room. He needed as far away from the succubus as he could get. “I apologize _Mademoiselle_ Brun, but I believe that what I do with my…  _child_ ,” he landed on the word awkwardly, “Should be my choice and my choice alone, rather than that of a complete stranger — however  _benevolent_  their intentions may be.”

            He gave a facetious smile as he settled down into the last remaining armchair, propping up his cheek with a loose fist. Souma relaxed at his side and Ciel fought the urge to comfort his friend. “Although,” he continued, staring down the woman across from him. “I hardly believe you were merely trying to take a load off of my back. The idea of the progeny of a noble of Hell coming back to haunt you terrifies you, does it not?”

            Cosette stared at him with wide, stormy eyes for a moment before settling into a flustered blush, squirming like a thing trapped on its back. In his peripheral vision, Ciel caught a smirk flash upon Sebastian’s lips for a split second.

            "So direct…” she mumbled to herself, playing with the frills of her fan. “You’ve backed me into quite a corner here, Earl. I hardly wish to sound rude, but I believe you’ve hit the nail on the head — it’s nothing against you personally, of course!” Cosette gasped, holding up her hands innocently. “You must understand that if anything, I’m doing you a favor! If anyone else of our kind were to sniff you and your little darling out, it would be quite messy. We wanted to at least give you a choice, you see?

            “And it was our intentions to eliminate that threat without the human public becoming aware of our presence. As you might imagine, many don’t accept these sorts of  _lasting relationships_  between a human and an elite of Hell — it usually ends up in such a mess for everyone else — and neither you nor the… child… would likely survive the ordeal.”

            “‘ _Lasting relationships_ ’?” Ciel repeated incredulously, raising an eyebrow. “What are you implying, Mademoiselle Brun?” He could feel Souma snickering silently in the seat beside him and fought the urge to hit him. Perhaps it was the fact that he and Sebastian had scarcely been close in the past few days, but the suggestion that they had a ‘lasting relationship’ sounded far more sordid from the succubus’ own mouth.

            The waif blinked her saucer-like eyes several times, shifting her gaze from the silent butler, to the earl, and then back. She opened her mouth, and nothing but a small noise came out as she struggled to find the correct words. “W-well, I was merely assuming that since you’ve kept the child this far, and your…” she gestured at Sebastian flippantly, shaking her head. “Your…  _friend_  has remained by your side without abandoning you, that you were in some sort of — you know – besides your lovely little contract that is all too apparent due to smell —.”

            _‘‘You know’ what?’_ Ciel fought the urge to ask. _‘It’s not like we can marry, unless, perhaps that’s a possibility in the worlds of the supernatural?’_ Exasperated and sick of feeling left out of the loop, Ciel sat upright in his seat and stared Cosette dead in the eye. “Well, you know what they say about assuming, Mademoiselle.”

            Cosette froze in mid-flail and proceeded to blush a deep raspberry color, slamming her hands down into her lap and glaring out of the corner of her eye at nothing in particular. “Y-you embarrass me so, Earl Phantomhive. I implore you to stop your teasing.”

            Ciel smirked, feeling oddly accomplished at landing such a childish insult upon the doltish woman. “If I may say so, I’m not teasing in the least, ma’am.”

            Cosette flushed deeper, gnawing on her lower lip. Dark claws began to extend from her fingertips, puncturing the off-white material of her skirts and she seemed close to crying. Laughing inwardly in smug triumph, Ciel fought down his grin. “Apart from your apology, Mademoiselle, for what else do we owe the pleasure of your presence? You mentioned previously that you and your benefactress were so kind as to give me a ‘choice’? Dare I inquire into that?”

            “Well,” Cosette huffed, shaking herself slightly and attempting to sit up as tall as possible. The stiffness of her posture combined with her wide, wobbling grey eyes gave her the appearance of a glass-eyed doll dressed in horrendous swathes of linen and lace. “Yes, I was here to present our terms, as it were.”

            “Terms?” Sebastian finally spoke from across the room, arching an eyebrow. “And, pray tell Mademoiselle, what would these terms be?”

            Sniffing, Cosette pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, dabbing softly at the corners of her eyes. “My benefactress and I agreed that you two have until the end of the month — that’s October the thirty-first, dear heart —” she added with another snuffle, “Until the end of the month to come upon a decision. The first: you can personally eliminate the half breed and we will leave you two be as long as you promise that  _it will not happen again_.”

            Ciel stared as Cosette’s expression hardened into something nearly frightening as she folded away her handkerchief. The earl met her slate grey gaze with unblinking eyes, pulling himself up to his full height, “And the second option?”

            “My benefactress as well as myself and my pet will personally eliminate both you and the creature you bear,” Cosette said evenly, pushing off of the sagging couch. “No exceptions. We do  _not_  allow such vile spawn to endanger our race,  _good Earl_ ,” she added in a near snarl.

            Ciel raised an eyebrow, vaguely impressed by her abrupt shift in demeanor. Cosette stood before him, glaring down at him with suddenly cold eyes. “I assure you that if you send anyone to attack myself, my benefactress, or my  _darling_  little harpy that the parlay will  _end_. It won’t be only your life on the line, my  _dear_ ,” she added, smiling willfully in Souma and Agni’s direction.

            Suddenly, the warm smile was back on her face as she ran a hand through her long tresses. “Your friend Soma here is purely human, is he not? And I’m fairly certain you have a lovely little witch in your company, correct?”

            Brightly Cosette turned to gather a long fur stole from the coat hanger, only to be stopped by Sebastian, who had appeared beside her in the blink of an eye. “Allow me, Mademoiselle,” he smiled, draping the garment around Cosette’s shoulders.

            Ciel watched, still in a numb state of shock from the brunette’s proclamations and quick turn of character. “Master, I’ll show Mademoiselle Brun out to her coach," Sebastian stated before turning to the slight woman. "If you’d follow me?”

            The demon pulled open the door, gesturing with a gloved hand. Cosette smiled and wrapped herself around his extended arm. “Finally, a  _true_ gentlemen!” she gasped pleasantly. “I still have no idea why someone such as  _you_  would stoop to an agreement such as  _this_ —.”

            Sebastian shut the door behind them, casting a wary glance over his shoulder at Ciel. “Honestly, though,” Cosette pressed as the sound of the door latching behind them sounded.  She turned bashful eyes up to his stoic expression. “What benefits can you possibly hold in a human wasteland such as this? The promise of one, delicious, well-earned meal? Why, without all of…  _this_  –,” she said, nodding pointedly back to the lodge where Ciel resided. “Well you’d be free as a bird, wouldn’t you?

            “A _true_ demon, untethered by obligations and redundant, demeaning chores. Restored to the being you truly are. Commander of forty legions, a palace to yourself, servants of your own. Not made to clean up after the filth of mere humans, taking orders from them like some common anima. Think of it, dear heart, of that freedom. You could have your pick of meals; reapers these days are so careless, it’s nothing to pick up dinner on the way to a club or a theatre. Why, I was on my way to the opera just the other night and –.”

            “I have no interest in harvesting souls,” the demon cut in, whirling his partner about to face him. He was surprised how genuinely he felt the sentiment. “Not any longer, at any rate,” he admitted tersely. “And it is not a choice I intend on amending, either.”

            “A-ah, la, well..,” the succubus blinked, taken aback. “There’s more to it than simply that, of course,” she added, voice turning to a subtle purr. “These _humans_ , they can’t possibly understand you… they certainly can’t  _placate_  you, now can they? That earl-pet of yours, he’s rather charming, but he still has  _such_  a long while to come into his own. To think he’ll never likely surpass sixty! Such a waste, don’t you think? What, when you could have a partner to last a lifetime? He has a handsome face, to be sure, but he’s still so _young_ ; you need a partner more suited to your needs, more generous and giving, more…  _experienced_.”

            The demon turned his face down towards hers, subconsciously aware of the charming toxins she was emitting, her receptive body pressed intimately against his own as they made their way through the bluebell stalks. He paused then, regaining control, “I’m not looking for a dispenser in which to slake my lust.”

            The succubus pouted coquettishly, extending her body towards him, the feathers of her enormous hat tickling the contours of his face. “You hurt my feelings, dear butler, and here I was only trying to help,” her lips perked into a coy smile at the demon’s clear irritation.

            “Explain yourself: you’re talking in circles,” he demanded warily. “What is it that you really want?”

            “Don’t be that way,” Cosette insisted, caressing his cheek with a gloved palm. “Your anger only makes you more appealing, and we  _are_  in public,” she allowed her lids to droop, voice rumbling to a sultry alto. “Say what you wish, _darling_ , but the truth of the matter is you need me. That useless carrier of yours is too stubborn to take a good deal when he sees one – you don’t want the fate he’s chosen for himself and that precious abomination of yours, do you? I can see the tenseness in your shoulders; let me work that out for you.  _You_  can solve this all yourself, you know: become my benefactress’ butler and we  _promise_  to leave your broken little toy and his welp alone. Well, for a time, that is. You’d all win that way.”

            Sebastian released a small growl and turned from her grasp. Cosette laughed airily and trotted up to his side, cocking her head as she studied his stormy features, fingers languidly inching along his spine. “You know it to be true, dear heart. You would get the freedoms a being like you deserves  _and_  your petty little human won’t die before he sees his nineteenth birthday. My benefactress and I leave him be for a good and long while and we get to enjoy your company… and oh how we’d _love_ to enjoy your company,” she crooned, molding to his chest. “So what do you say, mn? Won’t you join us?”

            Sebastian gave a humorless smile, wrapping his hands about her frail arms until the tips of his claws snagged at the fabrics covering them. The succubus quirked a brow in lucid amusement, trying to decipher the intent in his ruby eyes.

            “Allow me to illustrate,  _Mademoiselle_. You interest me just enough to be fuckable; your innocent act is as annoying as it is appealing and let’s face it, you are utterly desperate for the attentions of any male you meet. But there is one thing that you are, and that is crystal clear: a threat. You are making the very ignorant and arrogant decision to cross me and my family and have aligned yourself with a mistress who cares no more what happens to you than the table scraps she pushes around her plate at the end of a meal. You are disposable, replaceable  _trash_. This pitiful attempt to work out a one sided bargain on charm alone just reveals you for what you are: vermin. You should keep in mind that I am also the butler of this household and this family and it is my duty to eliminate any pest that creeps past the threshold in any way that I see fit. Trust me, _rodent_ , should you wander into my claws again I will be more than happy to remove that obnoxious little voice box of yours cord by cord.  _Do I make myself clear_?”

            Cosette stared back, pale face drained to a ghastly puce. “Y-you!” she snarled, shoving the butler away from herself with alarming force. “You absolute  _wretch_. You  _will_  rue this, mark me, you will regret your very words!”

            The demon righted himself, watching with building satisfaction as she stormed off to her buggy, sharply dealing curses to her driver. Content, he pulled his vest back into place and turned on heel towards the direction of the lodge. Ciel and Souma stood plastered to the front window, and even with the physical barriers, he could scent his master’s swirling jealousy and confusion.

            “What did she say?” the earl demanded, knowing his butler would hear him before he’d even set foot back inside the parlor.

            The demon sighed dismissively as he shut the door behind him, taking in the countenance of those gathered about him. Souma guiltily removed himself from the front window, urging Ciel back to the armchair despite his protestations. Agni, meanwhile, looked absolutely furious, quietly pacing with rigid shoulders before the hearth. Even Sieglinde and Iris had risen, lingering by the door to the bedroom and seeking explanation with their looks.

            “She said nothing of value, I assure you,” he answered Ciel flatly. “The only thing that comes out of that woman’s mouth is useless drivel. She was under the impression she would be able to make some sort of backwards deal with me in order to momentarily secure both your life and the child’s,” he amended truthfully. “Not actually spare you, mind, just buy time.”

            Ciel’s heart caught in his throat, images of the harlot pressed up against Sebastian, his long fingers entwined in her hair flashing through his mind. “So… what did you say?”

            “I declined, of course,” Sebastian replied, arching an eyebrow. “I refuse to be a fetish for some poorly constructed temporary fix. Unless my lord would —.”

            “No.” Ciel responded coldly, his eyes locking with the grain on the wooden floor. “We won’t succumb to their frivolous  _deals_. Absolutely not. Do you understand?”

            Sebastian grinned, dropping to one knee as if on his master’s unspoken command. “Yes, my lord,” he recited. “I shall do everything in my power to fulfill your wishes concerning this matter, whatever they may be.”

            “Good,” Ciel responded as Sebastian took to his feet once more. It was the first time someone had openly validated his autonomy and he was surprised at who the words had come from. Exhausted, the earl turned to retreat back to the bedroom, determined to catch at least another hour of rest. However, he was stopped by a soft hand on his shoulder.

            “And what might those wishes be, my lord?”

            Ciel froze.

            ‘ _I am doing this for selfish reasons_.’

            “I’ll keep it.”


	14. Convolvulus Minor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I am so sorry for yet another late update. I promised this last night but I was really busy after work and totally spaced on it :c 
> 
> Just to remind you guys, this story now updates every other week! So mark your calendars for September 15!
> 
> ~Moosey
> 
> (PS, AgniSebastian is our pale OTP)

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Convolvulus Minor**

_“What lies behind us and what lies ahead of us are tiny matters_

_compared to what lives within us.”_

– Henry David Thoreau

            “I’ll keep it.”

            The words froze Sebastian in his tracks. His hand remained upon his master’s shoulder and he knew he must have looked comical with such an honestly shocked expression. He had prepared himself for the worst and somehow…

 _‘Why is he doing this?’_ he couldn’t help but think. _’I thought, after last night…’_

            The look of sheer loathing on Ciel’s face as he ordered him to leave the night before floated all too clearly to the forefront of the demon’s mind. He knew without words that the earl finally understood his predicament, had seen the surprise and fear register in his features. And Sebastian knew that he was the cause of it all. He thought for certain that the younger would want nothing more to do with him, nonetheless his child.

            “I’ll keep it.”

            Those were certainly the last words he had anticipated hearing. He had imagined a plethora of outcomes after his banishment was issued, trying to quiet his mind with the blissful darkness of sleep as he lay on the floor of the bedroom. Nearly all of them had negative outcomes. Ciel letting the harpy kill him. Ciel following Eugene’s unspoken suggestion. Ciel ordering him to do the deed for him and having no choice but to obey. Distantly he had wondered how fitting such a punishment would be, to have everything start and end with an order.

            Certainly he had done wrong by the earl, but he hadn’t been alone in the wrongdoing, either. Ciel had taken a huge gamble by ordering Sebastian to sleep with him. To ‘fuck him’, as he had so lovingly put it. Knowing it was a command the demon couldn’t refuse by contractual obligation made the otherwise consentual act more than a little hazy.

            _‘But I wanted to do it,’_ Sebastian reminded himself. _‘I had fun; I wanted to best him at his own game, besides. It was… competitive, almost. It felt as if we were on an equal playing field.’_

Still, it didn’t erase the hurt he had felt afterwards, the ugly fact that he had been used in as base a manner as possible. Just because it had felt good and he had enjoyed it didn’t mean he wasn’t left with the sour feeling of being seen as subhuman.

            _‘It’s not as if I can shove the blame onto him alone, though,’_ he mediated. _‘Adult though he may be, he’s still young enough to not fully grasp the severity of his actions. And it’s not as if I did anything to warn him. To… to tell him what the consequences of those actions may be. Even if such an outcome is rare, I could have let him know. No, I_ should have _let him know. He deserved to know before this whole mess even began._

_‘And I should have explained what his order felt like to me, what he was really doing against me. It’s not that I minded the physicality of it but it still wasn’t right and it would have been better than sitting with these feelings now. I should have talked to him as an equal rather than try to play his childish game and let his actions go unchecked. I was being childish myself._

_‘I knew better about all of this. Even after everything happened I hid the truth because I was a coward and afraid. I don’t know what I thought would happen: as if he wouldn’t figure it out eventually. I should have been the one to tell him: not Eugene, not anybody else. It should have been me and I failed him in that respect.’_

He had fallen into an uneasy sleep, only to be awoken by his best friend informing him of their visitor. Automatically fearful and guarded, he had done his best not to incite his master’s ire further, telling him everything he could as if it would make up for his previous oversights.

Then the situation was out of his hands and he’d had no choice but to let Ciel navigate the tense conversation, telling off the succubus and making the demon feel both proud and concerned. Their problems would only intensify, he knew, but he would rather face them than submit to the whims of Cosette’s ilk. He only hoped Ciel knew just how serious his decision was.

            His proclamation suggested that he did.

            “I’ll keep it.”

            Sebastian could scarcely believe it. A glimmer of hope swelled in his breast. Maybe things would work out all right. Maybe he could tell Ciel how he really felt, both about him and the child. Tell him all the things he wished for.

            Before he had the chance, however, Ciel was shrugging off his touch, expression growing embittered. “I’m going back to bed,” he announced a bit stiffly. “I need some time to myself, besides.”

            That again. Somehow it was much harder watching the earl walking away from him than to walk away himself. Dropping his hand, Sebastian fought to regain his composure. His emotions were too many and too conflicting.

            He watched as Sieglinde and Iris backed away from the doorframe to allow Ciel passage to the bedroom. The smaller of the two hobbled back into the room, presumably to supplicate her friend, leaving her maid behind. Her gaze met with Sebastian’s, icy and unforgiving.

            “Iris?” he began. “Might I –?”

            “Whatever it is, no,” she cut him off. “You made your bed.”

            With a sinking feeling the demon watched her return to the room, closing the door none too quietly behind her. He released a tense sigh, almost dreading turning to the two in the parlor behind him. When he did, he found them wrapped up in their own thoughts: Agni was still pacing beside the fireplace in agitation while Souma looked concernedly out the window, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

            “Agni?” the demon called out. The other man stopped in his tracks as if suddenly aware of his surroundings once more. His master looked up at the words as well, catching Sebastian’s glance and immediately dropping his own to the floor. He continued staring at it pointedly, clearly uncomfortable and not knowing whether to respond or not as his butler crossed the small room.

            “Shall we get out of here?” Agni asked softly, sending a meaningful look to the closed bedroom door.

            “Please,” Sebastian exhaled lowly, feeling the strain begin to ebb from his shoulders. “A few turns around the property would really help, I think.”

            Not bothering to grab coats, they quickly made their exit from the hunting lodge, stepping into the greying light of the day. The sun was just beginning to peak through the clouds, making for almost comfortable weather as cool air contrasted with light warmth. Sebastian paid none of it any mind, feeling as if he could breathe properly again.

            Agni shot him a mixed look, lips pursed in concern. With a slight nod he set their pace, heading out to the main road and beginning to meander along the various trails and meadows. For a while they were silent, just enjoying each other’s company and the peace of the woods. Within the center of Savernake’s heart, Sebastian could almost forget about everything and imagine it was all just some complicated dream.

            “You must have a lot on your mind,” Agni broke the silence at length. “You know you can tell me whatever you need.”

            “I know, and I do,” the other responded softly. He scarcely had the capacity to notice the beauty of the nature around him, not when Ciel’s words and expressions dogged his every step. “Look, I don’t want any pity, I’m not here for that,” he prefaced, twisting his lips in agitated worry. “It’s not as if I have the right to ask for it even if I wanted to. I know I put myself in this position, right from the very beginning. Both you and Iris didn’t make to judge me but I could still sense your disappointment.”

            Agni dropped his eyes to his feet, saying everything by his reactions. “Sebastian,” he began, but the demon shook his head and cut him off.

            “You don’t have to lie for my sake,” he promised. “I allowed this to be an outcome, no matter what Ciel did or didn’t order. Then I just exacerbated everything by not being forthright, even when the both of you encouraged me otherwise. Iris is right to be angry with me: I sought the both of you out and disregarded your advice entirely. I’ve been hard-headed, idiotic, and rude.”

            His friend released a long sigh, swinging his arms with each step with the gusto of nervous energy. “I won’t waste my breath saying that you’re wrong,” he began, offering a quick and apologetic smile. “But as always, my friend, I must remind you not to continue to beat yourself up after the fact. What’s done is done and there is no changing that now. Accept your mistakes for what they are but don’t dwell on them, either. Please don’t make the same mistakes that I have, it’s not worth it.”

            “Thank you,” Sebastian hummed, pausing beside a particularly mossy tree. It felt good to have someone acknowledge and validate his feelings, no matter how self-depreciating they were. For as much as he detested orders it was ironic that he needed someone to tell him how to act. “I just… it’s not that I’m at a loss for what to do now. I know I should talk with him. I need and want to talk with him, even,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair.

            “I hoped that after today I might be able to,” he continued. “I know it comes far too late, but it needs to happen nonetheless. I want to be on the same page with him, to talk this over, even if it’s ultimately up to him how this all plays out. I don’t… I don’t want to make him feel abandoned. That’s the last thing I want. It’s just… after all that has happened I don’t know how to convince him that I care.”

            “If you want my honest opinion?”

            “I do.”

            “Well,” Agni shrugged a little. “Don’t. Don’t try to convince him of anything. At this point it’s not really your place to push judgements upon him; let him come to his own decisions as the facts are presented to him. If you try to make yourself out to be loving and caring he will only become more suspicious and withdrawn. Let your actions and choices speak for you.”

            Sebastian frowned, picking absently at the moss. “What if it’s not enough? Say I present my case as neutrally as possible and he still rejects it as lies?”

            “It’s not about presenting a case,” his friend corrected. “It’s about expressing your feelings and beliefs. If your ideals mesh then I suspect things will go as you hope.”

            “And if they don’t?”

            “Then it’s not something that would work out even if you forced it,” Agni returned truthfully. “It means that you both would have to actively work together to meet a common ground, and that would mean a lot of changes not only as a… as a couple, but also in terms of yourselves.

            “If this was meant to work out, then it will. But right now I doubt you really know how the other is feeling or what you want out of this situation. You’ve never talked about it, so how can you know? Perhaps Ciel is only rejecting you now because he’s afraid. It’s very likely, don’t you think?”

            “Extremely,” Sebastian consented, swelling with guilt. “I know precisely how he gets when he’s scared. He hates being scared to begin with. But when he is, well… he lashes out and becomes angry. I think it’s part because he’s mad with himself for feeling so vulnerable and part because he doesn’t know how else to protect himself.”

            “Then you shouldn’t assume that his reaction has anything to do with how he views you,” the other butler explained calmly. “You’re assuming too much on his end and putting words in his mouth. That’s no good for you and that’s not fair to him. Don’t prejudge one another before you’ve even had a chance to try and resolve the issue.”

            “You’re right,” the demon sighed ruefully. “As always.”

            “I hope so,” Agni hummed. “I try, at least.”

            They continued their walk, ducking under the sagging branches of the trees around them and wandering out onto a side road. This they traversed a while more before beginning to double back towards the lodge. When Agni began to flag, the demon found them a fallen log on which to sit, parasitic mushrooms crumbling underfoot as they settled across the splitting wood.

            “May I ask you something?” the white haired man asked.

            “Of course.”

            “What do you hope the outcome will be?” he questioned without judgement. “What is it that _you_ want, Sebastian?” The words were an exact echo of those spoken in the kitchen of the London Estate not two weeks prior. “Before you told me your wish was to make a family with Ciel. Does that still remain true?”

            “It does,” the demon whispered. It felt almost shameful suddenly, after everything he’d put the both of them through. He wouldn’t be able to resent Ciel if he were asked to stay away. “I… I’m so deeply and truly glad that Ciel wants to keep this child,” he admitted. “What I want, more than anything – more than my own desires to be a part of that equation – is for the two of them to be safe and happy. I just… even if it meant that I wasn’t a part of it at all… I want whatever would put Ciel at ease and make him feel secure. I want my child to have a good life and to escape some of the prejudice that so many young demons endure. I… I want quality of life for them.”

            Agni smiled in relief, shoulders relaxing considerably. “That’s love, unconditional love. You admitted to me that you love Ciel and since you’ve never told him he doesn’t know. But I’m glad to know – genuinely know – that the quality of your love is one that he deserves and needs. I know you’re worried about whether or not he’ll accept you, and I can only advise you to be forthright with him from here on out.

            “But I can also tell you that the more love you allow to show, the better this process will be. If he can feel what you do for him – really feel it in a tangible sense – then at the very least it should put him at ease and allow the two of you to better communicate. If you allow yourself that one thing, if you drop your defenses enough to let him in, then at the very least you can secure his happiness, no matter the outcome on your part.”

            Sebastian nodded quietly, beginning to feel at peace with his new reality. “Do you think I could be a good father?” he asked at length.

            “Well, I can tell you what I think, but that question can only really be answered by you,” his friend returned.

            The demon barked a short laugh, entirely uncertain. “What _do_ you think?” he tried again a bit concernedly.

            “I think you are the most capable person I know,” Agni hummed thoughtfully. “There’s no doubt in my mind that you could perform any feat whether as a butler or a parent. You have always had the predilection for learning quickly and that would more than offset all of the things you seem to know already. Although,” he added a bit wryly. “I suppose you’ve had just a bit of time to accumulate all of that knowledge.”

             “More than,” Sebastian grinned, relaxing.

            “As evidenced by Ciel himself I can attest to your skills as raising a young person to be upstanding,” Agni continued. “Not to mention extremely cultured and well learned. To think that your master knows so much: fencing, dancing, violin, French, German, Latin, how to handle a gun? It’s incredible and thanks largely in part to you. Of course I can expect that you’d do the same for your own child, if not more. What with Ciel’s position, they would be incredibly well cared for and well off.”

            “But that’s not everything,” the demon answered, lowering his gaze. “I understand that.”

            “It’s not everything,” his friend agreed, drawing up his knee to rest against his cheek. “So you tell me if you’d make a good father. I can only tell you what I see. You can tell me what you feel.”

            Sebastian took a steadying breath, “I know my flaws better than my strengths,” he began. “And of those I have several. I’m at times cruel and entirely heartless. I have a hard time understanding humans at times and can’t always appreciate sentimentality. As a demon I have done thousands of despicable things. I’ve consumed so many souls. I have lied and cheated and murdered and backstabbed. I am not someone who anyone would consider good.

            “I… I don’t know if Ciel trusts me at all. I think he’s come closer than ever, that he believes in me enough to protect him and come to his aid. But that’s not quite the same as trust, not the kind that I mean, at least. He knows me for how I am but I don’t know… I don’t know if he can see passed that, either. I don’t know if he can see _who_ I am, and it’s not as if I’ve ever let him.

            “I… I was in love once, a long time ago,” he continued, the images from centuries past sprouting up in his mind’s eye. Agni gave a surprised hum, leaning forward. “It was more than love, it was something genuine and serious. I wanted everything with him…” he trailed off, finding his throat strangely tight.

            “He was someone I would have willingly wanted a family with. But… I sabotaged myself. Back then I wasn’t someone who committed to anything. I ran from every serious relationship I ever encountered, I left as soon as someone said that they loved me. I let happiness pass me by again and again while stealing it from everyone else.

            “And you were right before: I am running. I have been running. Since before I can remember. And I’m sick of it, I really am. I don’t want to be that person anymore. I don’t want to keep ruining every good thing that comes my way. I guess it’s only karmic fate that I should finally be on the receiving end of the actions I continue to repeat. I’ve… I’ve never been the one to hope I’m loved in return and to have to face the very real possibility that I’ll forever be left unrequited. It’s… humbling. And terrifying.

            "I know who I am, good and bad. I know that I have the capacity for love and that I can be patient and giving. I know that a family is something that I want for myself; that I want to do right by my children and give them a better life than I led. To keep them from repeating my mistakes, to be able to pass on the things that I’ve learned. I don’t want an heir or a replacement for myself. I’m not interested in any of that. My position, my power? That was only ever a convenience for me to get away with whatever I wanted.”

            Agni made a soft noise, looking nostalgic. Sebastian knew that his friend appreciated the feeling all too well. With a sigh he placed his gloved hand over the other’s lowered knee, patting it softly. “I know you can understand,” he pressed. “And I can’t express how much that matters to me: to find someone that can recognize where I’m coming from, even if only in a minute way.”

            Agni smiled at him warmly, eyes still a bit sad. “I feel the same,” he shared. “I think it’s part of what made it so easy to open up to you in the first place. Kindred souls, I believe they say? I figure that must be true of us.”

            “I certainly think so,” the demon agreed. “I just… I know I have the capacity to do the right thing and to be a good father. But I also know that I have the habit and the ability to turn it all to shit at a moment’s notice. But this… this is something that I actually want to commit to, that I want to see through. I don’t want to be that person anymore but I have no credibility to prove it. I need someone to keep me in line, I realize that. And – as embarrassing as it is and as weak as it makes me feel – I’m honestly scared of not being able to change. But this is something worth changing for and I guess above all I’m worried that I’ll never get the chance to prove it. Because I think at the end of the day that Ciel is good for me and that he can match me in every possible way.

            “I… I really do love him and I hate fighting like this. Everything that’s happened has only made me realize my own feelings and for once I just want to express them and get them out on the table. But every time I try either I clam up or he pushes me away. This… this isn’t something I’m used to and I’m trying. I know I’ve fucked it up, too, but I’m really… this is something where I’m completely out of my depth. And, despite myself, feeling that vulnerable only fuels the desire to be heard and accepted. I guess… that’s probably normal, but… I don’t know, it’s just an adjustment for me.”

            “Change is often uncomfortable,” Agni spoke gently. “And your feelings and concerns are valid. If you can share even this much with him?”

            “It’s not easy.”

            “I suspect not.”

            “I’ll do it, of course,” Sebastian promised. He felt worn down from being so unusually open. Were it not for Ciel needing his space he could go for a nice nap himself. “Ciel deserves to finally know the truth, even if he doesn’t believe a word I say. I dug myself into this hole, after all,” he winced. “But, as always, you’re right about this. I… I know I don’t get sentimental often, but I really want you to know what your friendship and guidance means to me. I only wish I could provide as much for you.”

            “Sebastian, our friendship is not measured by quantity but by quality,” Agni reassured. “There is nothing you need do but be honest with me and be available when you can. I know, personally, as a fellow butler, that it can be hard not to try to measure your worth or desirability by the things that you provide.”

            The demon sighed with a guilty smile, nodding his head. “It’s a bit hard not to apply it to everything else after a while.”

            “I know,” the other chuckled, “I really do. But I want you to know that I never expect anything of you and that you don’t have to measure up to any standard to maintain our friendship.”

            “I get the feeling you’re implying something more?” Sebastian commented perceptively.

            “It applies to all things, all relationships,” Agni admitted. “If you try to keep score you’ll never get to enjoy the moment or the things that that relationship brings to you. It’s not about equality of actions but equality of feeling. Please don’t stress yourself further by thinking that you are not enough or that you are somehow undeserving. I know it takes time to change your thinking,” he added gingerly. “But I think that’s the first step toward finding your happiness. Try to make peace with yourself before you make peace with others.”

            Not knowing what else to say, Sebastian leaned over and wrapped his friend in a hug, resting his forehead against the other’s shoulder. Agni started in surprise, warming over with a smile and he returned the embrace, patting the demon consolingly on the back. “And Sebastian?” he concluded earnestly. “Don’t give up.”

**Xxxxxxxxxx**

            Hazy golden sunlight spilled into the little study, reflecting weakly off of the hilt of an aging pair of blades crossed above the hearth. Dust motes wafted through the air, turned to little aureate speckles in the light, giving the room a sensation that was simultaneously nostalgic and enchanted.

            Sieglinde sat in the middle of the study floor on her knees, her fingertips placed lightly on the lid of a steamer trunk she’d unearthed from under many of the boxes that occupied the long-forgotten study. It had taken some maneuvering to pull it out from under Eugene’s possessions which had been piled upon it during their cleanup of the lodge, but she’d eventually managed to do so without causing an avalanche.

            After hearing the reaper’s story and the role that Ciel’s mother had played within it, Sieglinde had instantly set off to look for remains of the other witch’s magicks. If they’d managed to ward off both an incubus and the harpy, then there was bound to be some documentation of it – Sieglinde only hoped that it hadn’t been destroyed in the fire that had demolished the original Phantomhive Manor. It was essential that she was able to produce even the smallest way to assist her best friend – especially now with what was at stake.

            Throughout the course of Undertaker’s story, it had become glaringly obvious what the situation at hand was – despite how strange it sounded. Ciel was pregnant, and the succubae were out to prevent a Hell royal from securing his progeny and for a being of mixed blood from coming to fruition. She felt awful to learn the truth, knowing that it was herself that had led Ciel farther from it with her poor interpretation of the written threat. If he had been female, it would have been much easier to see, but she’d let her ingrained human sensibilities blind her from her supernatural prowess to decode the truth.

            She had taken Souma aside after the interrogation to confirm their shared suspicions. He’d come to the same conclusion as she had after the story, albeit a little hesitantly.

            “But – a _man_?” he’d shaken his head, still caught between shock and disbelief. “Even with the explanation Undertaker gave, it still doesn’t seem likely.” He paused and licked his lips, looking to Sieglinde for answers, “Have you —?”

            “It’s rare, but not unheard of in the supernatural community,” she confirmed. “Especially given the type of demon Sebastian is: I wouldn’t doubt Ciel is pregnant in the slightest.”

            “But even if he is,” Souma said, still not keen on completely accepting the situation. “You heard what he said could happen to Ciel if he… if he goes through with it.” He turned his wide amber eyes onto Sieglinde, looking horrified. “Would Ciel even be able to—? Have other men… made it?”

            The Green Witch bit her lip and stared harshly at the well they rested beside, peering into the rainwater collected there as if she could scry it for answers, “It’s an incredibly taxing procedure for a human male. Like the reaper said, their bodies can’t adapt by changing shape like a male demon’s could. Even if he survives it Ci—the human male’s body usually ends up… broken.”

            Souma stared, still looking terrified. “What are we going to do?” he whispered.

            “We’re going to support Ciel in any decision he makes,” Sieglinde declared, knowing there was no question about it. “If he decides to keep… them, he has the best chances possible to survive because he has a witch at his side. Witches are the only people who would know how to act as midwife in this sort of situation – we are ultimately healers and the protectors of the balance between humans and the supernatural after all. And besides,” she smiled at Souma, although it was a little grim. “I’m never leaving Ciel’s side, no matter what he chooses.”

            Souma returned her smile with one of his own, taking her hand and squeezing it earnestly. “Same here! This whole thing might be insane, but one thing I know is that I’m never going to abandon my best friend – especially when he needs us this much.”

            That morning, Ciel had informed Sebastian – and by extension, their entire party – of his intentions to keep the child. Once he’d excused himself, Souma and Sieglinde had exchanged terse expressions, knowing that their mission was set and Sieglinde had taken to her search, more determined than ever.

            Sieglinde had been horrified to learn that the succubus – apparently one of two – had managed to break through her and Iris’ herbal wards and enter the lodge while the witches slept. She knew that the preventative measures she’d taken to protect the building from malicious supernaturals had little to no bearing on Sebastian, which now made an incredible amount of sense seeing as his true name – Malphas – meant that he was a prince of Hell. All the same she was frustrated that a being not as strong as him was still able to avoid her precautions.

            In her search of the lodge, she’d come across a faint pulse of energy when she’d stepped into the crowded little study. It had led her to the steamer she sat beside, which was emblazoned with the metal letters R. DURLESS. Thankfully, there was no lock and the trunk opened easily with a sigh of lavender and cloves – an effective method for warding away moths, but even more effective to infuse the contents with good luck and protection.

            Sieglinde set the aged sachet aside and extracted the first layer of the trunk: a soft pink cloak emblazoned with Celtic knots. The Green Witch smiled and draped it over her shoulders before delving deeper into the contents. A small box within produced a Venetian mask in the visage of a mouse inlaid with pink and purple filigree and a pewter wand set with blue alexandrite. Further digging produced the usual suspects: a chalice, athame, and altar tile marked with a pentacle. Finally, the steamer produced what Sieglinde had been seeking: a thick leather tome. Rachel Phantomhive’s Book of Shadows.

            Thankfully, the book was composed like a diary, having an index with each entry listed in the front, the contents listed beside the date. Quickly, she sought out the latter half of 1869, coming across the appropriate entry:

_29 November 1869: To Kill an Incubus or Succubus_

            Eagerly, Sieglinde skipped through the pages until she found the corresponding date written in neat cursive.

_29 November 1869_

_Last night I sought an audience with Mother Doe. She was pleased in consideration to what I had learned about Ezra Petit and was curious what my next steps would be in order to protect the school. I told her of Owen Drown and his sick game to seek Phantomhive’s favor – of his threats to do so again. She was aghast, but nothing could have prepared her for what I was about to say next. I told her about Phantomhive’s plans to kill Owen and stop him in his tracks. About how he, myself, and Faulkenrath fear that Owen shall never be stopped if he does not die. Even if I am strong enough to ward the school against him, what shall stop him from killing other innocents in order to gain Vincent’s love? Surely not all the witches in London can ward the entire city from all incubae in order to stop him._

_Mother Doe was horrified that I would ever suggest using magick to kill. She said that the first rule of being a witch is to do no harm – that it is our purpose to hold the peace and protect the humans rather than incite the wrath of more malicious supernatural beings. I contested that I’ve known that since the moment I received my first wand, but would it not be more harmful to let Owen continue killing more and more people? Thankfully, my words seemed to reach her._

_Mother Doe explained to me that there was a way to kill an incubi or succubus, but in doing so that I would forsake my coven and become a black witch. But if it is to protect innocent people, then I will do anything. I do not consider myself a black witch, even if I am acting with intent to kill. I cannot sit idly by and turn a blind eye to the death around me when I know that there is a way to stop it._

_To Kill an Incubus or Succubus:_

_Prepare the rosewater in a large cauldron below the light of the full moon (that’s the third of December, I mustn’t forget!)_

            ‘ _And that’s four nights from now for me_ ,’ Sieglinde thought, taking mental notes.

_Add a drop of your blood to the rosewater, three crushed cloves of garlic, and a handful of powdered dried juniper. Burn dried sage above and around the cauldron and extinguish it in the potion. Remove the sage and bring the potion to a rolling boil. As it boils, hold your wand above the potion and recite the incantation:_

_“This holy blade I bless_

_To put an end to the duress_

_Spawned by the unholy temptress_

_Lilith let your child sleep_

_For men she causes to weep_

_And sheltered I shall the purity keep.”_

_Put out the flames and allow the potion to cool. When it is cool enough to handle, dip a blade into the mixture. Use this blade to pierce the heart of the incubus or succubus and they shall die._

_Vincent has been the one to offer to kill Owen and – considering – I think this is appropriate, given that Ezra was his very dear friend. He’s given me the little paper knife that he carries on him at all times and – come the third – I shall bless it and return it to him in order to carry out the deed._

            “It _couldn’t_ be…” Sieglinde gasped, thinking back to the letter opener that the reaper had left in the forest that night. “If that’s the same letter opener, then I won’t even have to worry about blessing a new blade!”

            Still draped in the cloak, Sieglinde took to her feet and gathered up her crutches resting against the wall. Growling, she set off after Ciel, hoping that her friend had at least gathered it up.

            She found the earl sitting in the bedroom on one of the weathered mattresses. He was staring fixedly at something in his hands and Sieglinde’s heart gave a triumphant leap – before it was revealed to be nothing more than an old mourning bracelet made from hair.

            “Ciel,” she said softly, as to not startle him. The earl apparently had heard her come in, for he set aside the bracelet and turned to her, face drawn and unreadable.

            “Yes?” he responded, sounding a bit blank. Sieglinde fought against her natural reaction to fuss over him – that could come later – and approached him with her question.

            “Where is the paper knife that the reaper gave you last night?” she asked. Ciel stared at her silently, looking hurt. Sieglinde realized how insensitive her quip had been and cursed herself

            “ _Scheiβe._ I didn’t mean it like that!” she insisted, holding up a hand to profess her innocence. “I found some of your mother’s old things and I read in her Book of Shadows –.”

            Ciel looked completely lost.

            “Her – her _tagebuch_ that she blessed a paper knife to be able to kill an incubus or succubus.”

            The earl stood up, some of the color returning to his face, “Do you know if it’s the same one?”

            Sieglinde shook her head, “No. But I want to check in order to make absolute certain – I could still bless another blade to do the same, but I would have to wait until the full moon in order to perform the ritual.” Her eyes hardened, “It would be more than convenient to have one _now_ , just in case.”

            Ciel nodded in understanding. “Right. I left it out in the forest where we trapped Un –Eug—,” Ciel shook his head. “Him. I still remember roughly where it is. Come on.”

            The pair set off out into the garden and into the copse of trees where the confrontation had taken place the night before. It took Sieglinde longer to maneuver through the rough forest floor with her crutches, and as such the search took much longer than she would’ve liked and caused an awkward silence to span between them.

            After Ciel had glanced at Sieglinde out of the corner of his eye for what seemed to be the fiftieth time, the Green Witch broke and stamped one of her crutches on the ground.

            “ _Ja_ , I _know_ ,” she huffed. “And I’m not concerned about that right now – I’ll make fun of you later.” Ciel sputtered and Sieglinde waved around her crutch dismissively, “Like I didn’t _know_ you were fucking.”

            “SIEGLINDE!”

            The witch produced a grin, tossing her head to the side and eyeing Ciel down smugly. “Like I said, I’ll tease you more later – now help me find this shitty knife.”

            Ciel looked about ready to kill her, but remained as uncomfortably quiet as he had since earlier. The two scoured the ground before Ciel gave a triumphant sound and fell to one knee, picking through the bluebell stocks as Sieglinde approached. He held out the paperknife – its blade smeared dark with a little bit of old blood – for her inspection.

            “Well?” he inquired as she gathered it up and closed her eyes. “Will it do?”

            “ _Shht_!” Sieglinde silenced him with a hiss, willing herself to concentrate on the energies that the knife was emitting. Nothing seemed to pulse off of it but wave after wave of regret and fear and — below that—

            Sieglinde pinched her brows, focusing on the faint pulse of magick. She sensed fear, regret, triumph, and many lives that had been snuffed out without remorse or second thought. After more than two decades it was all but a whisper over the screaming layers of negative energy that the blade had accrued, but it was there: a sliver of holy energy, Rachel’s pure intent.

            ‘ _Rachel –_ nein, _Sister Mouse_ ,’ Sieglinde thought. ‘ _You should have never been turned away from the coven. Mother Doe was wrong – you never did a lick of harm. You were a protector_. _But after all this time, it seems…_ ’

            “The intent is far too weak,” Sieglinde concluded. “I can hardly feel the enchantment – It should be overflowing with holy energy, but there’s hardly anything there.”

            Ciel’s face fell before instantly reassigning itself to rage. Sieglinde cursed her friend for concealing his true feelings.

            “Ciel –,” she began, but the soft sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted her. Both the witch and the earl turned to see Sebastian standing beside one of the grey trees, looking genuinely concerned.

            “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he apologized. “But have you found anything of use, Lady Sullivan?”

            Sieglinde sighed looked down at the letter opener. “Yes and no,” she admitted. “I found a spell that can bless a blade with the ability to slay a succubus.” She held out the paper knife for his inspection. “Sister Mou – Ciel’s mother – blessed this blade to do so years ago, but the magick has faded. It would be a good idea to keep this around just in case, but it’s useless when it comes to killing an incubus or succubus.”

            Before Sebastian could reply, Ciel snatched the paper knife away from Sieglinde and pocketed it.

            “What are you doing out here anyway?” he demanded, glaring at the butler. “Looking for your lover?”

            Sieglinde winced, spotting a wounded look on Sebastian’s face.

            “No,” the demon said smoothly, although irritation was clearly forming on the edge of his words. “If you must know, I had just finished a conversation with Agni and I’ve come to speak with you.”

            “I’ll return to the lodge, then,” Sieglinde said quickly, sensing the contention rising between the earl and his butler. “I need to start my preparations – I can perform the ritual at the next full moon and bless a new blade.”

            “Thank you, Lady Sullivan,” Sebastian said, bowing his head towards the witch. Ciel didn’t even acknowledge her, his eyes were trained on Sebastian.

            The two stood in silence until Sieglinde was well out of earshot.

            “Well?” Ciel barked impatiently. “What do you want?”

            “Only to talk with you,” the butler returned plaintively. “I know this may not be want you want –.”

            “Correct,” the other snapped. “You don’t know what I want.”

            “But I want to,” Sebastian insisted. “This is bigger than the both of us and it needs to be discussed. I want to know where you stand.”

            “Where I stand?” Ciel echoed incredulously. “I’m sure that was the farthest thing from your mind when you saw fit to getting me pregnant.”

            Sebastian winced, raising open palmed hands warily. “It wasn’t my intention for this to happen,” he clarified. “None of this was to spite you. Regardless, I willingly admit my fault: I should have warned you that this could happen and I should have told you that you were pregnant the second I realized it.”

            “Which was when, exactly?” the earl asked testily. Already he had crossed his arms over his chest, looking entirely pissed and defensive. “How long have you been keeping this a secret from me?”

            “I…” the demon faltered. “I’ve known since you were about two weeks along, maybe a little less than,” he relented.

            “So you’ve known for over _three weeks_ and never saw fit to tell me?” Ciel seethed. “Who exactly do you think this affects!? Did you just think I wouldn’t find out? Were you just planning on waiting until my bones begin to break or my organs start to fail on me?”

            “No!” Sebastian answered in alarm. “I…” He wasn’t entirely sure what to say. How long would he have put the news off if Eugene hadn’t intervened?

            “Don’t bother,” the younger continued with a sneer. “Clearly you don’t have an answer. You don’t have _any_ answers for me, apparently. So what, you just kept this to yourself all this time?”

            “No…” Sebastian felt he was getting farther and farther from the collected conversation he had hoped to achieve. “To be honest I told Agni… and… Eugene.”

            “ _What?_ ” Ciel spat thinly. “So you saw fit to tell _them_ but not _me_? Not only that, but then you made them culpable of _lying to me_?”

            “I’m not saying it was the right thing to do,” the demon answered, voice unsteady. “But I felt that I needed someone to talk to –.”

            “Other than me, you mean?” the earl condescended. “So you thought I wasn’t important enough to talk this over with three weeks ago but you want to do so _now_? You wanted me to continue carrying a _child_ – _your child_ – while never once talking about it? Shit, Sebastian, I know all you want is my soul but just how dispensable am I to you?”

            “You’re not!” the butler exclaimed. “That isn’t what I want, that’s not what I –.”

            “I know what you are now,” Ciel interjected fiercely. “Sieglinde told me as much. That you’re some prince of Hell, a being far more powerful than you ever let on. So what is some half-demon child to _you_? It’s not like they’ll ever be as strong as you or as long-lived as you. They’ll be half human, too,” he laughed nearly hysterically. “They could have my asthma for all I know! There is _nothing_ that you can benefit from in this entire situation. Even if you try to take them as some sort of sick progeny or heir they’ll never be able to defend themselves as good as other demons: surely you know that better than me. All I can figure is that they’d make easy collateral for obtaining my soul.”

            Sebastian stood rooted to the spot, expression pallid and brows furrowed in hurt. “Collateral?” he repeated. “I would never, ever use a child –.”

            “Sure, as if you haven’t been manipulating me ever since I was ten,” his master hissed. “You can’t try and convince me now that you’re so morally upstanding.”

            “I’m not and I don’t profess to be,” the demon returned, voice rising defensively. “But I would _never_ put our child in danger or use them for my own gain. I don’t want them to have anything to do with Hell or my title or any of that. I want –.”

            “A lot of things, apparently,” Ciel interjected. “You keep talking about what you want, don’t you? Well this isn’t about you: you’ve already made it clear enough that you’re not able to handle this. That you don’t want to deal with this, at least not with _me_.”

            “ _Please listen to me,”_ Sebastian begged. The earl stilled, growing wary but silent. Sebastian never used the word ‘please’, not if he could help it. And he never said it sincerely, certainly not in askance. “ _Please,”_ he repeated. He hardly felt connected to his own body.

            “I have fucked up. I have made mistakes. I haven’t done right by you and I regret that so much. I don’t know how to convey myself to you and I am _scared_. I want to be a part of this child’s life, Ciel. I want to know them, to give them a good life, to make them happy. I want you to be able to be happy. And I know it’s not my place, and I know that all of this comes down to you and your choices and what is best for you. That’s all I want at this point. That’s it. I want to ensure that you both have the life you deserve –.”

            “Yet you still say ‘I want’,” the younger broke in. His slender frame was shaking as though the rage and hurt inside of him was threatening to spill from every pore. He blinked his eyes furiously, willing them to clear. “You want to talk about what you want? Fine, then talk about Undertaker. How can you even begin to pretend that you want all of this shit for me, for this baby, when all along you’ve been shagging _him_? Hell, you were still fucking him after you knew I was pregnant, weren’t you? You confided more in him than in me, the person you claim to want so much for.”

            “Yes, it’s true,” Sebastian confessed, composure crumpling. “I was with him, I’ve been with him, and it’s all been behind your back. Things got complicated so fast: I tried to keep you safe, to get you the information and the resources that you needed. I knew how invaluable an asset he had always been to you and trust me I was furious after what happened on the Campania. I never thought I could trust him and I guess I was right –.”

            “Do you love him?” The words were cold and direct. Ciel stood stock still, eyes hooded and expressionless.

            “I…” the demon choked out, face falling immediately. “I did.”

            “Do you love him _now_?”

            Sebastian shook his head, biting at his lip and looking on the precipice of tears. Just as he feared, everything was falling to shit around him. He wasn’t sure he could stomach so much betrayal, hurt, and anger in one week alone. But Agni’s advice resounded in his mind: all he could do was to be honest to the bitter end.

            “He’s hurt me more than I can possibly describe. I think if I see him again I’ll punch him; I’ve never in my life felt –.”

            “But do you love him?”

            Sebastian swallowed thickly, disgusted by his own answer, “Yes.”

            “Then there’s really nothing more to say here, is there?” Ciel returned evenly.

            “Ciel!”

            “Don’t,” came the icy reply. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m done.” Refusing to look at his butler any longer, Ciel turned and stalked out of the circle of trees, leaving the demon alone with nothing but his regrets.


	15. Nelumbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Bangs fists on table* LIZZY CHAPTER. LIZZY CHAPTER. LIZZY CHAPTER.
> 
> Sorry about posting late I cut the tip of my finger off at work so that's a thing lmao (I'm okay tho it was just the skin above my fingernail).
> 
> ~Moosey

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Nelumbo**

_“Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love.”_

– Jane Austen

            Elizabeth Middleford sat at her vanity, fingertips idly tracing the curves of her fiancé’s name written upon a little envelope. She had written it recently in an attempt to lessen some of the stress that had beset her in recent days, even if there was no address to send it off to.

             She had personally visited the London Estate shortly after receiving her cousin’s correspondence, only to find it completely empty. Even their friend Sieglinde – who lived nearby – had been absent from her townhome. Further investigation had proven that he had not returned to the main estate with his friends. Yet again, he was completely lost to her. He had left Lizzy in the wake of a string of arsons, and very well could have become a victim to whoever was behind them.

            Lizzy didn’t like or want to think that way; she knew that Ciel was an incredibly capable man who had faced much more dire circumstances than mere threats and fires. But there was always the nagging feeling that somehow, some day, he would set off and simply disappear into the mist like smoke – in the same matter that his twin had perished eight years earlier.

            He was already growing farther and farther away from her. Perhaps he hadn’t just become lost to her – it was certainly a developing thing. Elizabeth recalled the way that they had played together in their youth: his bright smiles, his sweet words, the little wreathes of posies he’d twine together to set in her hair like a coronet. Ah yes, that had been _Ciel_. But this man—

            It had taken time, but Lizzy had eventually figured it out. The asthma should have been a dead giveaway, but she was so preoccupied with _fixing_ Ciel that she hadn’t even taken pause to notice that her fiancé was literally a different person. In reality, it was the Easter egg hunt that they’d taken part in when she was fourteen that had really clued her in – how he hadn’t recalled that in the years they’d spent prior, they’d always made an Easter egg together. It was the little inconsistences in his memories – little clues like that – that revealed to her the truth:

            Ciel Phantomhive was not who he claimed to be.

            He was, in fact, the younger twin Cecil.

            Ill and shy, he had never spent much time with his brother’s fiancée, being easily overwhelmed by her outgoing personality and fervor. It made sense that he’d hardly known anything about Lizzy as a teen because he hardly knew her as a child. Although she had been able to discern the truth, Lizzy could never guess what had led him to take on the elder twin’s name and live his life out for the other boy. But even so, Elizabeth had lost Ciel Phantomhive – her best friend – eight years ago.

            But, in a strange way, it was almost like she’d been given a second chance with Cecil, the twin who she had believed to be dead. No, he was not her best friend or her true fiancé, but she still loved him all the same. Finally, she had the chance to know him for who he really was without any illusions in her way. The reality of the situation had caused her to sober.

            She realized that he needed time for himself, especially when he returned from Germany emotionally deadened and shaken – perhaps even more so than after his month missing when they were young. She no longer forced herself to feel emotions for him. Even with the time that they had spent together following his graduation from Weston, Lizzy had come to the most sobering conclusion of all: she could not, in good faith, marry him.

            Cecil didn’t love her – and although almost every marriage she’d ever heard of was conducted out of necessity rather than love, Elizabeth couldn’t bear to force him into a situation where he was miserable. Even more so, she couldn’t—

            There was something wrong with her.

            The family had slowly come to realize that Cecil – “Ciel” – was not interested in marrying Lizzy at all; even if it was unspoken, his determination to put off the wedding was evidence enough of it. And rather than have their daughter become a spinster, the Middlefords had devoted themselves to encouraging young men to call on Elizabeth. And even though they had been generally genteel – and some even attractive – Lizzy found herself flinching from their attempts to woo her. She convinced herself that it was due to the love she felt for her cousin; that she had been so enraptured with the idea of becoming his wife that she could never feel anything for another man again.

            But as the years had advanced, it became clear that this was not the case. She felt love for Ciel, yes – the strongest love that she could conceive, it felt like –but she came to realize that she was not _in_ love with him. But rather, she had been in love with the _idea_ of being in love with him. What she felt for Ciel was something much different: a love born of compassion, of kinship.

            Elizabeth stood from her vanity and crossed her room, standing at the window and looking down into the front yard. Outside, her sister-in-law Camelia was playing with her baby son Justin while her elder brother looked on fondly. What Lizzy wouldn’t give to be able to have a relationship like that.

            Edward had been more than lucky to be able to marry the person he fell in love with. After her brother Lawrence had been kicked out of Weston, Camelia Bluewer’s father had stripped the boy of his inheritance and awarded it to Camelia. As such, it had been important for her to seek out a husband of high social standing – and in her search, she had come to Edward.

            Their love had blossomed naturally, out of genuine affection rather than social necessity. Elizabeth recalled seeing them sitting together in the parlor talking animatedly, eyes alight, bodies moving with passion and gusto as they touched one another’s shoulders and knees. The happy way they strolled along the property hand-in-hand, the look in Edward’s eyes when Camelia became delicate, the snippets of their sincere conversations that Elizabeth had overheard throughout the years, how Edward constantly professed how amazing it was that he’d gotten the privilege to marry his best friend; and Elizabeth—

            Gentle green eyes, swathes of ebony hair under her hands growing longer with each passing year, giggles over inside jokes, the way pale fingers glided through Lizzy’s hair, the sensation of lying her head on another person’s chest and just listening to their heart beat, confessing things she’d never profess to another person and receiving nothing but love and understanding in return. Coming to better herself through her friendship with that person and learning from them that they felt they were bettered in return. The rock and sway of the carriage they’d sat in that past Christmas, their warm bodies pressed together under the blanket. How the other had brushed their lips over Lizzy’s ear and asked: “What was that secret you wanted to tell me today?” And Elizabeth fell silent, for she could not bear to produce the words.

            Elizabeth Middleford was in love with her best friend.

            But her best friend was a woman.

            Sieglinde Sullivan had seemed to turn up in Lizzy’s life when she’d needed it the most – and, appropriately enough, when Sieglinde had needed it the most as well. With Ciel beset with spleen and Sieglinde completely alone in a foreign country with mere days until her audience with the Queen, Lizzy had swept the younger girl under her wing. She’d taught Sieglinde everything she knew of high society and had done it with a flare of fun. Elizabeth loved nothing more than watching the other girl’s face blossom from frustration to triumphant joy – of being able to accompany her to see the Queen. They’d been granted that rite of passage together, and it had brought them even closer. Lizzy recalled the carriage ride home, both of them dressed in white satin and lace and feeling like brides, and feeling Sieglinde take her hand.

            The younger girl had turned her big, bright eyes onto Lizzy and smiled.

            “Thank you… I really couldn’t have done this without you there.”

            Sieglidne had been there through all of Lizzy’s struggles – provided encouragement when Lizzy struggled with the perception of her own femininity in the wake of her swordsmanship. Had been there to show her sides of the world she could only imagine: had taught her art, science, alchemy, history – and had done it with as much zest as Lizzy ad taught Sieglinde how to curtsy. They shared their pains with one another: Sieglinde of being used by her mother and her country as a human weapon, Lizzy of being forced by her mother into a position she was not comfortable with. Sieglinde’s encouragement and tips on how to treat Ciel. For every little thing one provided, the other met it with balance and grace and depth. It was completely different from any relationship Lizzy had ever had.

            And in the end, Elizabeth could only ever imagine herself being with Sieglinde– spending the rest of her life together with the person who had come to be her best friend and who fulfilled her and complemented her and challenged her to be the best person she could be.

            Lizzy felt perverted for it. She was an Anglican – and could not confess – but often thought of what she might say to a priest if she one day dissented. How – she would ask – could such a sincere love be wrong? It might have been acceptable if it weren’t for the way Lizzy’s heart fluttered every time she saw her friend changing, every time Sieglinde’s lips brushed her ear, or the hazy dreams of soft black hair spilling over her naked breasts, lips trailing down her navel—

            Elizabeth felt her cheeks color. Although she’d never admit to the content of the dreams, she’d embarrassedly inquired with her sister-in-law about the strange feelings that came along with them. Camelia had taken her aside and quietly recommended a trusted doctor whose office had an electromechanical vibrator that would be able to aid with the hysteria. However, the thought of having to resort to seeing a male doctor for a hysterical paroxysm was beyond mortifying and Lizzy had kindly thanked Camelia for the recommendation and never pursued the manner further. Besides there was only one person who she’d seek paroxysms from, and it certainly wasn’t a male doctor.

            Shaking away the perverse thoughts, Elizabeth returned her focus to the front gardens, standing a little straighter when she noticed a familiar dark shape climbing the front steps of the manor. Naturally, he seemed to have gone completely unnoticed by Edward and his family; Lizzy figured that he’d chosen to materialize in the shadows below the eaves of the house in order to not draw attention to himself.

            Sieglinde had – as always – been incredibly forthright with her best friend, and revealed unto Lizzy Sebastian’s true nature. It had been difficult for her to accept that the butler was a demon, but not out of a sense of disbelief; with everything Sebastian was able to accomplish, it only made sense that he wasn’t human. The difficulty was spawned from Elizabeth’s own disappointment in herself, knowing that Ciel had been forced to result to a dangerous covenant instead of finding solace in the arms of his family.

            She knew it was insane, fancying her eleven-year-old self to be his would-be savior, but it was far better than the alternative. Although Sieglinde was fuzzy on the contents of their contract and Lizzy had never dared to inquire with Ciel about it, she knew that it could only end up in Ciel’s death or misery.

            She thought back to a play she’d seen with Ciel: a production of Marlowe’s _Doctor_ _Faustus_ at Criterion Theatre in Piccadilly Circus. She thought of the final scene wherein Faustus was dragged screaming into Hell by the devil, desperately crying for the demon he had been contracted to: “ _Ah, Mephistopheles_!” Would Ciel receive the same fate when the twenty-four years of his contract was up? Did the contract even work that way? He could very well have already had his soul dragged into Hell and Elizabeth would be none the wiser.

            Instantly, she gathered up her skirts and set off to the foyer, determined to intercept the butler before he left. What on earth could have caused him to come in person? If Ciel had already perished, would the demon even have the kindness to inform the family? Heart pounding, Lizzy swept into the entrance hall, slowing when she spotted the house steward opening the door for Sebastian.

            He looked odd. Whenever Lizzy had seen him in the past, he always looked calm yet vaguely amused – but now there was a frantic sort of exhaustion to his face. His limbs seemed tense, as if he were about to spring out of his skin at any moment. Elizabeth’s heart picked up its pace as they met eyes.

            “Ah, Lady Elizabeth,” he smiled at her as genuinely as he could muster, even though he looked as if he would rather be anywhere but there at the moment. He produced a letter from the lapel of his coat and the steward stepped aside for Elizabeth to receive it.

            “Please stay for a moment,” she begged the butler, holding up a hand to prevent him from leaving. He said nothing, but remained in the doorway. If anything, she wanted him to remain while she composed a reply so it could be delivered to Ciel as quickly as possible. Elizabeth broke the wax seal and devoured the contents of the letter, feeling her throat tighten as she read.

            “Mister Sebastian,” she said, dropping the letter to her lap. “Could I please have a moment alone with you?”

            Sebastian quirked an eyebrow and the house steward started, the elder man sputtering indignantly.

            “My lady, the _impropriety_!” the steward balked, but was silenced as Elizabeth shot him a look as cold as one of her mother’s. Elizabeth turned the same unforgiving gaze onto Sebastian and gestured behind her to the drawing room. The butler assented, following her into the small room and standing awkwardly beside the couch while she shut the door behind her, eyes still boring into him.

            “ _What_ _on earth_ have you done?” Elizabeth accused, holding the letter out at Sebastian as she crossed the room to him, standing eye-to-eye with him rather boldly. “Ciel says here that he was _attacked_ because of you!”

            Sebastian at least had the wherewithal to wince, looking down at the letter in Elizabeth’s hand. “I was not certain of what the young master had written, but it seems he was fairly forthcoming.”

            “As he should be!” Lizzy all but gasped. “He goes on to detail that whoever it was that attacked him was not even to be bested by you. What is it?”

            The butler looked taken aback, “Pardon me—?”

            “ _What_ was it that attacked Ciel? I’m not an idiot, I know what you are,” Elizabeth declared fearlessly, letting her typical tact fall away beside her anger. “And I know you’re powerful enough to stop almost anything from hurting Ciel. What kind of creature is powerful enough to best _you_?”

            Sebastian sighed and – to Elizabeth’s surprise – turned towards the liquor cabinet and extracted a decanter of whiskey and a lowball glass.  He poured himself a cup and leaned back on the cabinet unapologetically as he threw back the glass. It seemed that the demon’s butler disguise was wearing ever thin.

            “I don’t know how much you know about supernaturals,” he said. Lizzy was surprised to hear his tone so casual, used to having Sebastian speak to her in an incredibly formal manner. He truly must have been under a considerable amount of pressure to be so transparent with her. “But a pair of succubae have sent a creature called a harpy after us – that is what attacked Ciel at the townhome and caused us to flee.”

            Lizzy nodded, knowing that she could seek details from Sieglinde later. “Where have you even _been_? Is Sieglinde safe, is Ciel alri—?”

            “Ciel,” Sebastian said, throwing back another glass of whisky and producing a dry laugh. “Is pregnant.”

            Lizzy stared hard at the floor, her face turning bright red. In one swift movement she stepped back from the butler and kicked him clean in the stomach. Sebastian sputtered as he was pushed back into the liquor cabinet, almost coughing liquor up on Lizzy’s stockings. The swordswoman took him by the lapels of his coat and dragged him close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath. Her eyes were livid, pupils small as dots as she gave him a firm shake.

            “ _Don’t_ you _dare_ play games with me!” she hissed. “I am _finished_ being jerked around by your and his games! I want no part in whatever little repartee you two have established. I don’t even care if you’ve bedded him and you’re trying to poke fun at me for that fact! Just know that I _will_ protect Ciel, whether you’re around to see it or not. And you _better_ have proper answers for me Sebastian Michaelis or _I will not hesitate to run you clean through_.”

            The demon stared back at Elizabeth in shock as she took several deep breaths through her nose to calm herself. Releasing his lapels, Elizabeth drew herself to her full height – just hardly shorter than Sebastian himself – and stared at him evenly, baring no further bullshit. She wasn’t certain if she could take on the demon or not, but she would try her hardest to drive her point across, even if that point was a sword through his chest.

            Releasing a chuckle, Sebastian relaxed and finally capped the decanter, returning it to its original place in the cabinet.

            “You’re a very confident human, you know,” he informed her. “But, you’re an incredibly competent one as well. Your performance on the Campania proved that enough, and your prowess has grown exponentially since then. As such…”

            He hesitated, some of the earlier tension returning to his body, “I know it is against the master’s wishes, but you seem determined to aid.”

            “I will do anything in my power to get myself to Ciel’s side and keep him safe,” Elizabeth declared. Sebastian nodded and ran a hand through his hair – he must have been growing increasingly desperate if he was so quick to admit Elizabeth to Ciel’s side. Despite her talents, the butler had always been devoted to keeping her safe from harm and had never skimped on the job.

            “We’re staying in Vincent Phantomhive’s old hunting lodge in Savernake Forest,” the butler admitted. “If you could provide me pen and paper I will be able to provide to you precise directions on how to find your way there.”

            Elizabeth nodded, pleased with the results. She removed a little piece of parchment and pen from the desk where the supplies for parlor games were kept and handed them off to Sebastian. Wordlessly, the butler penned down the directions and gave them to Elizabeth.

            As he passed the parchment to her, he withdrew a little, eyes hardening, “Lady Elizabeth, you should know that I would typically never ask such a favor of you. Your wellbeing is beyond important to the young master and—.”

            He hesitated, looking as if he were struggling with his next words, inevitably flagging into his more casual style of speech. “To put it bluntly, this is one bitch of a situation we’re dealing with here. These types of beings won’t hesitate to tear you apart even if you give them an inch – quite frankly, you’re putting your life on the line even thinking about assisting. I’d much rather have you safe here.”

            Elizabeth met his words without fear: “Did you not just hear me when I said that I’d do anything in my power to keep Ciel safe? You may think me a fool for putting myself up against such incredible beings, but I’m determined to do right by him no matter the cost.”

            “He might not be the happiest to see you,” Sebastian said wearily. “He’s been… incredibly cross with me as of late, and he may interpret your presence as a personal attack from me.”

            “Then he should learn to place blame where blame is due!” Elizabeth declared. “If he’s cross with you at all, send him to me and I’ll straighten him out. Between Sieglinde and I, we’ll keep him in line.”

            “No doubt that you will,” Sebastian agreed, smiling his weary little grin once more. “I hope that your presence will be able to —.” He stopped and shook his head. “No, I shouldn’t pawn him off on you; I need to take care of this myself.”

            “We’re _all_ Ciel’s friends, you know,” Lizzy pouted, crossing her arms below her breasts. “You may be his butler, but you’re not the only person in his life.” Her expression softened. “Let others help you once in a while – we care about Ciel’s wellbeing, too, and if my presence is enough to help him through whatever he’s been going through with you, then that’s fine by me.”

            Sebastian nodded, turning towards the drawing room door, “I’ll expect you at the lodge shortly, then? I would offer to accompany you, but I don’t wish to be away from the young master for long. I left him in the others’ care, but even for this amount of time—.”

            “You’re anxious, I understand,” Lizzy insisted. “Go; you should return to him. I’ll catch up with you as quickly as I can.” She looked down at the directions. “Paula and I shall take a carriage to the nearest train station and be on my way to Marlborough – I’d imagine it won’t be difficult to procure a carriage from there.”

            Sebastian agreed and promptly excused himself. Lizzy spared little time watching him go, choosing to begin her packing instead. She traveled into a large armory nearby the drawing room, walking up to a pair of twin silver sabers resting on the wall. She extracted the blades from their sheaths and held each up for inspection, noting the amount of whetting she’d be required to do.

            Elizabeth held one of the swords up to her forehead, pressing it against the golden hand guard.

            “Cecil _,_ ” she whispered. “This time, no matter what, I’ll protect you. _”_

**Xxxxxxxxxx**

            Ciel had spent the majority of the evening in bed, having developed a splitting headache after his confrontation with Sebastian. That and, frankly, he just didn’t feel up to dealing with other people at that very moment. He’d gently declined dinner from Agni, fearing that his headache would cause him to become nauseous, and retired to the God-awful little room where he’d been spending the majority of the time.

            The earl lay there and let his mind wander, still too alert and irritated to fall asleep. He thought back to his argument with Sebastian, seething over the demon’s words: “I want, I want.” It was incorrigible. Ciel felt a flush of hypocrisy, having spent nearly the last eight years making demands of his butler, but managed to squash it down beneath his frustration. What did it matter what Sebastian – what _Malphas –_ wanted anyway? It may have been his child in Ciel, but it was certainly not his body to do with as he pleased.

            ‘ _But didn’t you do to Sebastian’s body as_ you _pleased_?’ An obnoxious voice of reason in the back of his mind pointed out. ‘ _And isn’t it important to hear his input if you intend to keep it? You want this child to have a family – a_ father _– you thought so yourself._

 _‘But I could never have a family with Sebastian_ ,’ Ciel argued, rolling over in bed and passing a hand over his face. ‘ _I don’t – he doesn’t –._

_‘But what if what he had to say was genuine? Of all those things he wanted, none of them seemed selfish. He seems to have many of the same desires as you do when it comes to raising the child. He even said he doesn’t want a progeny.’_

But did that mean he wanted a _family_? The desires that Sebastian had voiced to him had sounded too good to be true. And besides, could he ever fully trust Sebastian knowing that his soul would be the demon’s to devour in the end? Could he go throughout his life knowing that he was doomed to meet his bloody demise at the hands of the person he was supposed to love?

            Love.

            Ciel laughed at that. He hadn’t even been certain that the demon was capable of producing such emotions, but he certainly seemed taken with Eugene now, didn’t he? There would be no reason for Sebastian to have lied about loving Eugene, unless it was to try and deter blame for leading the reaper straight to Ciel. But if Sebastian was being sincere for once in his life, did that mean Ciel would be taking him away from the person he was in love with? Would being forced to play family with Ciel while his lover was pushed aside just further Sebastian’s resentment towards him? Was that any sort of situation to raise a child in?

            Just as he was about to be consumed by his thoughts, the door creaked open and the scent of dinner wafted through.

            “Hello there,” Souma said, poking his head into the room. In his hands he bore one of the many chipped plates that the lodge’s feeble kitchen had to offer. Upon it was a hearty helping of chicken tikka masala over rice. Despite his headache, Ciel’s stomach grumbled causing him to blush and his friend to grin.

            “Scoot over,” the prince directed, stepping into the room. He set the food down on the night stand and turned on the gas light. Sieglinde walked into the room after him, setting her crutches aside and climbing onto the bed alongside Ciel.

            “You two are going to get in big trouble in high society, you know,” the earl grumbled, sitting up and accepting the plate from Souma as he shifted to allow the other two access. “The impropriety would have most people in hysterics.”

            “I’ve told you time and time again, at home we’d do all our entertaining while sitting on the bed,” Souma declared, waving away the notion like a pesky bug.

            “And I’ve told you time and time again, I don’t care,” Sieglinde shrugged, letting her hair down from its twist. It sprawled over the pillows and Ciel’s lap. The earl brushed it away as to not dirty it with any errant foodstuffs. “We did this when we first met, remember?”

            “Yes, but we were children,” Ciel insisted, tucking in to his meal.

            “And yet you still wanted to ‘play’ with me using ‘toys’, isn’t that right?” the witch countered cheekily, much to Souma’s amusement. Ciel turned bright red and resisted the urge to swat Sieglinde in chastisement.

            “If you keep saying stuff like that, people are going to get the wrong idea!” he hissed.

            “What, that you enjoy the company of ladies?” Sieglinde said, grasping her own breasts as if to make a point. Ciel swore in embarrassment at the bawdy gesture and actually gave the Green Witch a shove to the shoulder. Souma broke out in loud guffaws, all but doubling over.

            “Oh no, we _mustn’t_ have that!” Sieglinde continued, feigning an aghast expression and pressing the tips of her fingers daintily to her cheeks. “Think of all the sad ladies who will come looking for your hand in marriage, only to learn Ciel Phantomhive has been made delicate by another man! The scandal! The outrage! Oh, you’ll never marry in fine society at this rate Ciel, you’re a ruined man!”

            Souma was laughing so hard that he had already rolled the majority off of the bed before Ciel shoved him to the floor. The prince remained there, his laughter dying down before looking up at his friend in amusement. Ciel turned to glare at Sieglinde, who was stealing his tikka masala.

            “Aren’t you supposed to be an acceptable member of society by now?” he asked, yanking back his fork and resuming his meal. “I thought we shook you of that years ago.”

            “Mm, in front of strangers? Yes. But you know what kind of animal I am,” Sieglinde shrugged, swiping her fingertip through the sauce and tasting it.

            “Disgusting,” Ciel countered. Souma climbed back up onto the mattress and nudged Ciel in the shoulder playfully.

            “You know we’re only teasing you, right?” he inquired.

            “I’m not: you’re ruined for life.” Sieglinde interjected flatly. Ciel shot her a look before returning to Souma.

            “I know. That seems to be the only thing you two are capable of doing some days,” the earl sighed, pushing a piece of chicken around his plate before bringing it to his lips.

            “It’s because you take yourself too seriously,” Sieglinde explained, rolling onto her side.

            “Oh, I’m terribly sorry that my _potentially fatal pregnancy_ is ruining your fun-loving mood, _fraulein_ ,” Ciel countered. Sieglinde’s expression instantly shifted from mocking to serious.

            “I’m not going to let you die, you know,” she said, laying one of her little hands on his knee. “Witches are some of the only beings that know how to act as midwife to demonic pregnancies in humans. I’ll educate myself in any way possible to make certain that you and your child make it through this, Ciel.”

            Despite himself, the earl felt a genuine rush of relief. Some of the tension seeped from his bones and he nodded in approval, “You better not be taking the mickey, Sieglinde.”

            “No _scheiβdreck_ , I promise. I wouldn’t joke to you about that,” Sieglinde swore.

            “I… I really don’t know what I can do in the situation, Ciel,” Souma stared, looking a bit sheepish. Ciel handed over his empty plate and Souma set it aside, returning to Ciel with an earnest look. “But I promise to do whatever I can to help. I’ll be the best uncle your child could ever ask for.” A sly look overcame his face. “Which is exactly why you should name them after me!”

            Ciel fell back into the pillows, covering his face with his hands as he emitted exasperated laughter. Leave it to his friends to be serious for all of three seconds before they started up on their usual bullocks. On his other side, Sieglinde produced a mock scandalized gasp.

            “ _Mein gott_ , you can’t be serious!” she exclaimed. “If I’m going to bring that child into the world, they must certainly be named after me!” She turned to Ciel matter-of-factly and informed him: “Sieglinde if it’s a girl, and Sullivan if it’s a boy, if you’d please! If not, you’d better be ready to deliver that baby yourself!”

            “You _literally_ just said you wouldn’t joke about that not _two minutes ago_!” Ciel gaped at her, but he couldn’t help but let the corners of his mouth tug into a smile. “You two are surprisingly… accepting of this situation.”

            Sieglinde shrugged, “I’m a witch, it’s not something that’s unheard of.”

            “And I’m your best friend!” Souma insisted. “And I have more than enough information to believe that you really are… you know.”

            “Pregnant?” Ciel laughed. “This isn’t a ladies’ teahouse, you can be forthright.”

            “Bred up,” Sieglinde provided with a wide smile. Souma smothered a gasping laugh behind his hand and Ciel wheeled on her, eyes huge and smile manic.

            “I’m not some dairy cow!” he yelled, mussing her hair aggressively. She ignored him and took to her knees, crossing her arms over her chest.

            “ _Oh Sebastian, oh God!_ ” she cried in a breathy voice, chest heaving exaggeratedly. “ _Take me with your massive cock, make me your wanton little—.”_

“SIEGLINDE SO HELP ME!”

            The witch laughed and snatched up a pillow from the bed, aiming at Ciel’s head. Souma threw his arm out to intercept her, gasping in indignation.

            “Sieglinde, he’s _delicate_!” he insisted.

            “I’ll show you delicate!” Ciel picked up the remaining pillow and hit Souma upside the head, to Sieglinde’s squealing delight. The prince laughed and wrenched the pillow from Ciel’s grasp, hitting the witch in the hip. The two continued their tussle above Ciel before collapsing onto the bed in laughter, their bodies warm and humming on either side of the earl. Sieglinde propped her head up on his chest, her dark hair spilling everywhere, while Souma kept his distance, knowing that Ciel was more comfortable with minimal physical contact from him.

            Ciel reached out and idly began to toy with a lock of Sieglinde’s hair, wondering if the baby would inherit that same jet shade from Sebastian. Sieglinde looked up at him, a thoughtful expression on her face.

            “What _do_ you want to name the baby, Ciel?” she inquired. The earl stopped fiddling with the dark tresses, drawing his brows together.

            “I—,” he paused and licked his lips. “Isn’t it a bit early to be deciding that?”

            “It’s never early enough!” Souma insisted. “A lot of my father’s wives would wait until the very last minute to decide on a name, and then—.” He snapped to make his point. “I’d have a little brother or sister and they’d be stuck without a name.”

            “Yes, but—.”

            “And besides,” Sieglinde hummed. “Wouldn’t you want to call them by name?”

            “That would require knowing whether it’s a boy or a girl,” Ciel frowned. “I wouldn’t want to refer to them by Timothy then entire time only to have them born a girl and then having to get used to calling them Jane.”

            “Timothy Phantomhive?” Souma snorted, “How plain!”

            “Ugh, those weren’t _really_ the names – it was just examples!”

            “I’m still calling them Timothy.”

            “Oh, well there’s a simple way to prevent that,” Sieglinde interrupted, reaching into her pocket and extracting a little copper pendulum on a length of chain and holding it above Ciel’s stomach.

            “What are you doing?” Ciel asked, rolling to his side and shielding his stomach.

            “I’m cursing the baby to be born as a kitten,” the witch responded sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “The first rule of being a witch is ‘do no harm’, you silly boy! I’m going to tell you if the baby is a boy or a girl.”

            “You can do that?” Souma asked, staring at the pendulum incredulously. He reached out to poke it, sending it wobbling. “How?”

            “You hold the pendulum above the mother’s belly,” Sieglinde explained. “If it swings left to right, you’ll have a boy. If it swings in a circle, it’s a girl.”

            Ciel stared at her unconvinced, “Right. And what if there’s twins?”

            “Oho? You packing doubles?” Sieglinde teased, poking Ciel in the cheek. He batted her hand away.

            “God help me if that’s the case. Well?”

            “I suppose it would switch between the two, or nothing would happen,” she shrugged, stilling the pendulum. “Would you like to see?”

            The earl sighed, “I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

            “Go ahead and roll onto your back,” she instructed, gently pulling him back towards her. Ciel did as he was bid and humored her, resting his hands comfortably over his stomach. Sieglinde held up the pendulum and lifted it so that it was suspended over Ciel’s middle. Souma stood to attention, watching the pendulum intently.

            For a long while it was completely still, but eventually the little copper teardrop began to tremble just the slightest bit. Its movements grew stronger and stronger before it was moving in broad circles over Ciel’s belly. Sieglinde cried out in triumph.

            “Sieglinde the Second it is!” she declared, clapping her hands together.

            “Why not Souma-ette?” Souma pouted, jutting out his lower lip.

            “Because that sounds awful,” Ciel rolled his eyes. “There’s no way I’m naming a child that.”

            “Oh? Then what are you going to name her?” Sieglinde asked.

            The obvious first choices were Rachel for a girl and Vincent for a boy, although Ciel quickly reminded himself of the fact that he was determined not to replace his family members. He didn’t want to project any unwarranted feelings or desires onto the child, and as such it was inappropriate to name them after his deceased relatives, even if it was an honorable gesture.

            “I suppose,” Ciel began. “I always fancied the name Ophelia.”

            Both Sieglinde and Souma blinked at him in owlish surprise.

            “Ophelia?” Sieglinde repeated. “Like from Hamlet?”

            “Yes, there’s always been an appeal to me in her tragic figure,” the earl responded. “How torn she was between love and family – the beauty of her monologues, of the imagery of flowers associated with her. Not to mention, I’m a bit taken with Waterhouse’s work – one of his most recent paintings at the Royal Academy featured her.”

            “That’s a bit macabre,” Souma frowned.

            “ _I_ think its lovely,” Sieglinde asserted, obviously still levering for Sieglinde as a middle name. “What about a boy?”

            “Darius, I think,” Ciel said after a bit of contemplation. “It sounds… stately.”

            Sieglinde frowned, “And after such beautiful reasoning for Ophelia!”

            “I’m still calling her Timothy,” Souma informed Ciel again. The earl took up one of the discarded pillows and pressed it lightly into his friend’s face.

            “So help me, Souma Asman Kadar!” he huffed, dropping the pillow as soon as it was filled with his best friend’s muffled laughter. Ciel tucked the pillow behind his back, leaning into the warmth of his friends surrounding him. He felt as if he’d been dragged back from the precipice of a dark and vast maw, and had been refilled with comfort and energy in the place of lonely foreboding. Just moments ago he had felt so alone in his choices and with his thoughts, but now he was surrounded by support and joyous laughter.

            “Thank you,” Ciel said very quietly. “You two – I hate how you butt in, but you never fail to make me feel… lighter.”

            Sieglinde cuddled up against his chest, sighing sleepily. “That’s because you’re our best friend,” she informed him. “It’s our job to help you, whether you like it or not.”

            “The same goes for me, Ciel,” Souma bedded down into the covers, fixing the earl with a grin. “You’re not getting rid of me any time soon.”

            Feeling full of their warmth, Ciel allowed himself a rare sincere smile and drifted to sleep.

**Xxxxxxxxxx**

            “Do you really think you’re doing the right thing?”

            Eugene glanced up from where he was sprawled over the dense grass, endlessly turning the little wedding band around in his fingers. He felt as if he’d been laying there in repose for hours – the sun crossing the median above him time and time again as he attempted to return to the earth. He’d freed his dray horse Damien of his reins, but the animal was still nearby, traveling to and fro as he grazed in the fields and drank from the nearby watering hole. The faithful horse never strayed far, and would often hang his head down for Eugene to stroke. As such, the reaper was thankful for the creature – forever there as a reminder of the outside world, that he eventually had to stop feeling selfish and stupid and sorry for himself.

            For a moment, he’d thought it had been Damien that had been speaking. He looked up and stared at the horse for a solid two minutes, only vaguely shocked in his sleep-deprived state.

            “What?” he quipped, rolling onto his knees and staring at the horse resting next to the hearse. Damien’s tail twitched in his sleep, but he did not respond to the word. Eugene rubbed his eyes, wondering idly if he’d finally managed to doze off before the response was provided to him.

            “I said: ‘do you think you’re doing the right thing’?” the voice repeated itself and Eugene’s eyes fell upon the silver scythe propped up against the hearse. He stared for a moment more and white-blond curls spilled from around the crown of the metal skull, alight like the after-effects of pressing one’s palms into their eyes. A blood-soaked shift fluttered around the scythe’s empty rib cage, filled in with the frail figure of a woman. Empty sockets became powder blue eyes, flushed with tears of exertion and framed in the dark color of someone who hadn’t slept for days. Her skin was waxen, the shade of a person on the precipice of death. Every blink made the hallucination light up brilliantly before settling in to a solid form. She’d been transfixed in his mind like that for years: a living ghost, the will to live drained from her face, her sacrifice smeared over her in violent shades of red.

            “If I didn’t think I was doin’ the right thing,” Eugene mumbled, rolling over and facing the stars once more. “I wouldn’t’ve done it.”

            There was a soft noise as Clairice knelt down in the grass behind his head, the sensation of her phantom fingers running through his hair soothing him.

            “You’re a bad liar. You’ve been conflicted about this since the beginning,” she stated. He knew better than to argue. A little finger twisted up a lock of his hair and she began to hum softly. He hummed along, not knowing what else to do. She had come all this way from the recesses of his mind: the least he could do was hear her out.

            “You absolutely loathe the idea of disturbing the dead,” she informed him. “Which is why you do it in order to punish yourself. My scythe is a punishment for failing me. The Bizarre Dolls are a punishment for failing Vincent. You’re in love with making yourself out to be this Byronic figure because you’ve suffered so much, aren’t you?”

            Eugene closed his eyes, willing the hallucination to come to an end. But she continued, lovingly petting his hair as she had in life. It had always been the sweetest torture: to be caressed by her while she calmly dealt out all the truths he’d been hiding from.

            “What will you do now that you’ve failed Malphas too?” she asked, placing her hands on his cheeks and resting her forehead against his. A sheet of flaxen hair obscured the night sky as soon as Eugene opened his eyes. “He was the first person you loved since me, but you betrayed him for your own selfish desires. You lost the best thing to ever happen to you again.”

            “I don’t deserve t’be ‘appy,” he huffed, pulling away from her as he sat up and rested his chin on his knees.

            “So you go ahead and break his heart because you fancy yourself a martyr?” Clairice argued, stepping out in front of him. She turned to him and the blood was soaking her dress anew, dripping down her legs and staining the grass red. “You never told me how you were going to punish yourself for Sara – you certainly hate yourself the most for that one. Maybe you want to take Ciel away because you think that forcing yourself to continue suffering is the best way to make up for all your supposed sins?”

            “No!” Eugene bolted upright, taking to his feet and reaching out for her. Clairice turned away, facing the pool of water they stood beside. The moon reflected in it was tinged pink as the water was overtaken with blood. “I could never ‘arm ‘im! Look, I’m just tryin’ to do right – I don’t wanna fuck up again, love. My darlin’ love.”

            “Liar,” she hissed, jerking her shoulders violently as he attempted to rest his hands upon them. “You’re nothing but a hypocrite. You hate puppets, so you make them. You hate yourself for hurting others, so you make them suffer to torture yourself. You’re miserable so you make yourself laugh to pretend you’re not.”

            Eugene stood in silence, looking down at the blood pooling around their feet. He felt dizzy, uncertain if he were trapped in a hallucination or a dream.

            “Have you ever stopped to consider I don’t blame you?”

            He looked up and it was suddenly day. They were standing in the moors outside of their home, surrounded by craggy rocks and deep emerald rushing out in every direction. Fog clung close to the earth, dampening his skin – in the distance he could hear waves lapping against the cliffs, taste the salty ocean spray on his tongue. Her hair was piled on her head in a mass of flaxen curls, her blue cloak rippling around her in the wind.

            Eugene stepped closer to her, “You could never blame me – you were too good.”

            She paused and looked over her shoulder to smile at him. The soft rosy hue had returned to her cheeks, the light to her soft blue eyes. She looked so beautiful that it wasn’t fair she existed. He reached out to her.

            “You were too kind fo’ your own good. Even when you were dyin’, you were smilin’ – it just made me ‘ate myself even more,” his fingers trembled as he approached her, caressing her cheeks – she was so soft and warm and real. He wanted to just die so he could see her again, to be able to embrace her just like that, but –

Clairice reached up and caressed his wrist, her eyes scrunching knowingly.

            “Do you want to know how you can fix this?” she asked.

            “Yes, please, I do.”

            “Do whatever would make you happy.”

            Eugene released her hand, taking a step back. “‘Appy?” he echoed, watching her flicker like a dying candle.

            “What would make you happiest if you stopped torturing yourself?” she asked as the landscape shrunk in around her.

            “I –.”

            She smiled in slight frustration, “Must I spell it out for you? You want a second chance.”

            “I don’t deserve –.”

            “This isn’t about what you do and don’t think you deserve. You want a second chance. And besides,” she added with finality. “What do the people you love deserve?”

            He stared down at the moor rocks and the blades of grass pushing through them, “To be ‘appy.”

            “You don’t need to ‘fix’ anyone, Eugene,” she said, fading away until she was nothing more than a blue cloak hovering in a featureless plane. “You may think you bring nothing but death, but reapers are meant to protect souls. Protect the souls that you love, sew them deep into the earth in love abide till death divide my darling don’t cry I won’t leave you so soon –.”

            Her babbles were replaced with the loud bleat of a goat and Eugene bolted upright, gasping for breath. One of the grazing animals had wandered nearby and was attempting to ingest his hair. Quickly, he pulled it back and ran his fingers through the sticky mess, chest heaving. His eyes quickly sought the scythe propped up against the hearse.

            It had fallen over sometime in the night, and – after seventy-five years – the metal-encapsulated skull and ribs had fallen off of the weapon and rested in the grass.


	16. Alcea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiii everyone! I'm so sorry I've been so bad with updates this month. Ches and I have been in the process of finding jobs, and finally managed to score some seasonal work, so we've been really busy as of late. I'll try to be more on it for future updates. 
> 
> As for this story, there's only four more chapters left before we go on hiatus -- Ches and I are taking a break to focus on a new series. We'll miss you, but we hope you'll be able to enjoy our new works as well!

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Alcea**

_“Not till we are completely lost or turned around… do we begin to find ourselves.”_

– Henry David Thoreau

            The lodge was far less impressive than Lizzy had anticipated. With its worn wooden sides, dust streaked windows, and sorry excuse for a lawn it looked about the last place she would have expected to find her dear friend. “Looks more like a shack,” she commented aloud.

            “Miss Lizzy!” came the instantaneous exclamation. “It may not be… conventional… but Earl Phantomhive was kind enough to invite us out here,” the brunette finished as she tugged a trunk from their small carriage.

            The younger woman winced, grateful the other couldn’t see her expression. “I’ll keep that in mind, Paula,” she replied politely. So she may not have told her maid the specifics and perhaps that was a bit deceptive of her. Lizzy wasn’t entirely used to lying – it wasn’t a habit she approved of – but she needed to assist Ciel in any way she could, so the lying could be overlooked.

            It was a bit of an inconvenience to have to bring Paula along at all – not that Lizzy minded her company. Moreover, it was a frustrating necessity pressed upon her by societal convention: a woman traveling unattended was certainly no lady. Not wanting the unwarranted attentions of errant men, she had dealt with the inconvenience, thankful that it at least kept her parents from inquiring too much about her affairs. It was better, she decided, if they didn’t know who she was off to meet.

            Ever since Ciel’s dwindling intentions to marry her had become apparent, her parents had grown a disapproving notion of him. The dislike wasn’t enough to bar the invitation their daughter had extended for her fiancé to visit for a few months time, however, but the discomfort was evident all the same. Even Ciel had grown uncomfortable over the course of his five month, growing more withdrawn as the weeks wore on.

 _‘That idiot,’_ the blonde thought with worry. _‘He’s always done that when he faces adversity, ever since we were children.’_

            She could clearly remember when the young earl had quarreled with his brother over an innocuous incident, leading him to hole up in his bedroom and refuse to come play in the nursery. When the elder of the twins grew weary of the other’s actions, he had sought him out personally, leading to an angry outburst on Ciel’s – no, _Cecil’s_ – part.

 _‘So when does the bottle become uncorked?’_ she hummed to herself. She certainly hadn’t seen it when he was staying at her home, but judging by Sebastian’s shockingly casual behavior the day before she had an inkling that her friend had loosed all his feelings at once rather recently.

 _‘God, I hope he’ll at least talk with me,’_ she fretted. _‘I know without a doubt that he’ll try to send me away. He’ll probably get cross with Sebastian for this, too. But he clearly needs someone to vent his feelings to, even if I don’t really understand what’s going on. No, I have every right to be here and I will protect him whether he wants me to or not. If he is…’_

            It was hard to even think the word: it was so absurd and physiologically dubious.

 _‘If he really is pregnant,’_ she continued. _‘Then he won’t be in the position to protect himself. If even Sebastian had trouble with that… monster… then I truly can be useful.’_

            “My lady?” Paula intruded lightly, placing a gentle hand to her mistress’ shoulder.

            “Right,” Lizzy nodded, smiling brightly to conceal her troubles: she was already an expert at that, after all.

            The blonde plucked at the material of her striped blue skirts, lifting them slightly to make her passage through the tall grass a bit easier. _‘If I could just wear trousers!’_ she lamented in frustration. _‘Now_ that _would be something practical.’_

            Approaching the front of the structure she made to knock, making a small noise of surprise as the door swung inward before her knuckles even brushed the wood. Sebastian stood just inside, waving them admittance in a formal manner. Lizzy stepped over the threshold, scarcely noticing the interior of the lodge as she examined the butler.

            He looked wearier than he had the day prior, were that even possible. While generally of a pallid complexion, there was something about his expression that made Lizzy ache with concern. Perhaps it was the tense set of his brow or the haunted look in his usually bright eyes. She wondered if he’d slept recently, or if a being like him even needed sleep at all.

            “How was your journey, Lady Elizabeth?” he asked politely, shutting and bolting the door behind them.

            “Blessedly short,” the woman replied, still feeling conflicted. She didn’t want to feel worry for the demon: after all, whatever was going on appeared to be exclusively his fault. She couldn’t forgive someone for willingly endangering Ciel and yet…

_‘And yet he seemed so defeated just yesterday. I’ve certainly never seen him drink before and it was startling just how easily he gave in to my demands. Truly he must be desperate: but why? What on earth has gone on to push him to such limits?’_

            “Wonderful,” Sebastian hummed, stepping back into the parlor. “I see Paula is already preparing your things,” he added, casting a glance to where the brunette was talking animatedly with the unusually flustered Iris. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to see C–… the young master,” he corrected quickly.

            “Please,” Lizzy returned earnestly. She took in the lodge briefly, quickly discerning it was only comprised of two rooms. “Is he in there?” she asked, nodding towards the single interior door.

            “Yes,” the demon nodded briefly. “Although, he may still be sleeping, despite the hour.”

            Lizzy stilled a moment, frowning. _‘Still asleep? A punctual person like that? Then… perhaps Sebastian wasn’t messing with me. Could Ciel really be –?’_

            Shaking herself, she ushered a small thanks to Sebastian before reaching for the knob the bedroom. Turning the handle as quietly as she could, she stole into the musky little space. She only took two paces before she froze, entirely in shock.

            Sprawled out across the farthest mattress was Ciel, hair a mess as his two companions lay snuggled against his sides, arms slung languidly over his lithe frame. Souma to one side, smiling in his sleep, face nuzzled into the crook of the earl’s neck, and Sieglinde on the other, night dress slipping off one shoulder and her fingers splayed against Ciel’s chest. It looked almost as if…

            “What exactly is going on here!?” Lizzy exclaimed, unable to quiet her consternation. A heated blush had already seeped into her cheeks.

            Ciel bolted upright immediately, wide eyed and a bit panicked. By the time he had locked frightened eyes with his fiancée the two at his sides were beginning to rouse. Nicky, who had settled himself beneath the mattress the three shared, had come to attention as well, delighted at the presence of yet another person and sounding his excitement through a ballad of pitchy yips. While seeming to put Ciel further on edge, the dog’s antics seemed to have little effect on his friends.

Souma stretched drowsily, settling further into the mattress beside his friend, tugging gently at the other’s clothing to return to bed. Sieglinde exhibited similar feelings, pouting and making a small whine as her comfort was disturbed. A small protestation of, “Nein,” escaped her lips before she, too, clung tighter to the earl and threw a leg scandalously over his own. Then, blearily recognizing the Spitz’s cries, made a shushing sound that sounded far more slurred than reprimanding.

            Ciel paled, not once looking from Lizzy’s appalled expression. “This is not what it looks like,” he uttered quickly, perhaps the guiltiest sounding excuse of all. “I realize how indecorous this is,” he continued in a rush. “But we just fell asleep like this –.”

            “Don’t be so shy, Ciel,” Sieglinde teased, growing more wakeful. “Last night was _so_ much fun.”

            A pang of hurt pierced Lizzy’s chest and she thinned her lips in an attempt to keep from saying something she’d regret. “You don’t need to make excuses,” she bit out instead, no longer able to look her friend in the eye. It was a humiliating situation to walk in on but no matter how indecent it was she wouldn’t pass judgement on his decisions.

            “Sieglinde!” the earl hissed, swatting the dark haired girl away from him. “Don’t make this sound worse than it is! Honestly! Get off of me already!” he shot Lizzy an apologetically reproached look. “Lizzy, dearest, I –.”

            “It’s alright,” the blonde interrupted, settling herself and turning back to him. “You don’t have to explain yourself. Besides, I… I already know.”

            “Know?” Ciel returned, distress melting into guarded suspicion.

            “I know that you’re… pregnant.”

            A flush of shame overwhelmed the other’s features and he dropped his gaze immediately, quieting as he toyed with the blanket spread messily out over himself and his bedmates. Sensing his discomfort, Souma and Sieglinde made to leave, the latter scooping her pet into her arms and patting at his fur. Before they could progress much further, however, Ciel put out his hands to stop them, indicating with the faintest of touches that he would prefer their presence regardless of the situation.

“How do you –?” Ciel began, wetting his lips. “Sebastian,” he answered for himself. Anger twisted at his lips as he realized the extent of the situation. “It was yesterday when he delivered that letter to you, wasn’t it? That’s how you knew how to get here.”

            “Yes.”

            “Why would he –?” Ciel queried with frustration, unable to finish his own thought. “Clearly you two talked. How much do you really know?”

            “Enough to know that you’re in serious danger, far worse than you alluded to in your letters,” Lizzy returned evenly. “That there’s… a… succubus? And… something else that’s aiding her. And based on what you said, they’re cross with Sebastian and are torturing you for it.”

            “That’s… that’s not exactly the case,” the younger stumbled, clearly not wanting to talk about it. “I didn’t understand clearly at the time of my writing to you. I… I didn’t know that I… well, the situation was different then. There appear to be two succubae now and they’ve got a harpy with them. They… they aren’t after Sebastian after all, they’re after…” he broke off, unconsciously resting a palm against his abdomen.

            “What do you plan to do?” Lizzy asked perceptively. “I know you have options, even if they’re not talked about in polite society. Have you decided anything?”

            “I…” he flushed anew, this time growing more sorrowful. “I decided that I wish to keep them. Lizzy, I’m sorry to force this situation, I know that it will implicate you and it isn’t fair of me to just decide something like this so singlehandedly. I really don’t know your feelings on the matter and –.”

            “What do you mean, Ciel?” the blonde asked softly. “I’m not about to break up… whatever it is that you have. It wouldn’t be fair of me to make assumptions, but if Sebastian is the one that makes you happiest then –.”

            “Lizzy, dearest,” the other protested, the words awkward on his tongue. “Despite this, I’m not about to break off our –.”

            “It’s alright,” the woman repeated. There was no sadness in her expression or regret in her tone. “There’s no need to keep perpetuating the idea of a marriage that neither of us really want.”

            “Neither… of us?” Ciel blinked in confusion. “I thought… haven’t you always dreamed of marrying me? Of always being by my side? You used to talk about everything you wanted for the wedding, how you would look as a bride. I don’t understand. Since when have you…?”

            “Please don’t feel guilty, cousin,” the blonde pressed gently. “But I’ve known that this marriage would never transpire after you graduated from Weston. I’ve more than made my peace with it. Not to be rude, but could it be that… that you’re not the marrying sort?”

            Ciel coughed in surprise, immediately reading through Lizzy’s words. Certainly he had been aware of his own inclinations for a while, but he’d never expected to be called out on them by anyone other than a stranger. “I…” he choked out, flushing profusely. “Ah, well, uhm… y-yes.”

            Lizzy relaxed at once, confusing her cousin with a genuine smile of relief. “I’m so glad to hear it,” she expressed. She shot Sieglinde a quick glance, screwing up her courage. Doctrine or not, all the blonde wanted was to be happy. There couldn’t be anything wrong with such a simple wish.

“I, well,” she ushered in a rush. “The same is true of me,” she admitted quickly. “So to be told, things are better off this way. Please don’t feel a need to apologize on my behalf, you’ve done nothing wrong by me, not…” she reconsidered with a bite of her lip. “Not in this regard.”

            “Is this why you’ve come?” Sieglinde spoke up, cheeks spotting pink. The blonde’s heart skipped a beat.

            “Well,” she stammered, momentarily transfixed. That soft raven hair spilling over milk pale skin, those beautiful, wide green eyes… “Not exactly,” she shook herself. “To be frank, I came here to help protect our friend,” she asserted, turning to Ciel pointedly. “And please don’t insist that I’m not needed: if Sebastian struggled with your adversary then clearly you need all the help you can get.”

            “Lizzy!” the earl exclaimed in alarm. “Don’t be preposterous, it isn’t safe for you to be here! You should go home, protect your family.”

            “They don’t need my protecting,” the blonde countered. “If danger comes, they’ll be able to face it, you know this.”

            “I won’t have your blood on my hands!”

            “Well I won’t have yours on mine!”

            “Please, just go home!”

            “Absolutely not! If you are the target then it only solidifies my need to be here! Don’t try to bluff and say that you can handle it yourself. Don’t you dare send me away. You’re not in the position to protect yourself and you can’t afford to lessen your chances of making it through this. I’m staying and that’s that.”

            “Lizzy –.”

            A piercing shriek interrupted their conversation, crashing down on them from somewhere above the roof. The color instantly drained from Ciel’s face and the blonde immediately understood the present danger. Without waiting for the go ahead, she raced back into the parlor, pushing through the front door in tandem with Sebastian, willfully ignoring the shocked cries of her friends.

            The two whirled around, looking for the source of the shrieks. There, hovering above the peak of the lodge, flapped a massive black bird. Horror hit Lizzy as though she’d been submerged in ice water, paralyzing her for a moment as she took in the hideous creature.

            The harpy was easily seven feet tall, covered from its rounded head to its massive talons in glossy black feathers. Its shoulders jutted out around its head, folding into massive wings ending in thin, misshapen hooks that could’ve been phalanges. Its blood-encrusted beak descended into a wicked curve, parting briefly as it emitted another shrill scream. With abominable sentience it cocked its head, staring down the demon and the swordswoman curiously.

            As Lizzy beheld it, a milky red iris void of any whites or pupils bored back into her. She was allowed one shiver before the creature dove, sweeping its broad wings into a span that blocked out the light of the sun. Incredibly fast, it burst forward, shrieking as it descended beak-first towards its attackers, separating them in one fell swoop.

            Lizzy grit her teeth as her body plummeted to the ground, falling hard against her shoulder. She sprung back up immediately, drawing the swords fastened to either hip. Across from her Sebastian fell into a fighting crouch, cracking his knuckles in warning as obvious black claws extended from his nailbeds.

            The harpy squared off against them, shaking its enormous body in preparation for its next attack. Before the woman or the butler had time to gain the upper hand, however, the front door of the lodge burst open, revealing a panting Ciel brandishing his gun. “You are _not_ leaving me out of this!” he growled, steadying his posture and cocking the weapon.

            “Get inside!” Lizzy and Sebastian ordered in unison. The earl recoiled a moment, then the demon was yelling for Agni, beseeching his friend while never taking his eyes off the dark avian. With a stream of angry protests, the earl was drug back inside the lodge, and the blonde felt the fear ebb from her body.

            Ciel would be safe, and she would make sure of it. She was a swordswoman, and a good one at that. There was nothing to truly be afraid of, not so long as she trusted in her own ability and took in the environment around her. It didn’t matter that her opponent was some impossible mythical being, no more than it would were it human. In the end, it was all the same: once she learned its patterns she would surely be able to best it.

            “You better be ready for this,” Sebastian called to her lowly.

            Lizzy smiled, knowing that despite the previous day’s threats he trusted her. “Don’t underestimate me,” she returned confidently.

            As if synchronized in thought, the two dove for the harpy, startling it into attentiveness. Sebastian’s attack landed first: a heavy-handed blow to the top of the cranium. Momentarily stunned, the creature didn’t notice as Lizzy slid beneath where it hovered. Throwing the whole of her body into the attack, she slashed viciously at its feathered talons, squeezing her eyes shut to avoid the volley of blackened blood that spurted down hotly over her body.

            Vaulting over their enemy’s shoulder, Sebastian landed in a crouch, and then he had vanished, another two or three blows dealt to the bird. Lizzy made to attack once more, growling in frustration as she found that the harpy had scaled too high for her to reach. “Bring it down!” she cried, keeping pace with its shadow.

            The demon must have understood immediately, and, bunching his legs, he sprung towards the harpy’s chest, barreling into it with a shoulder. The bird screamed in surprise, pummeled back down to the ground. It fell to the side, scrabbling in the grass and the dirt and wetting it with blood.

            The swordswoman took advantage of the fall, running a blade along the creature’s abdomen. From such a close proximity she could smell the festering odors of rotting meat and sick and she fought the urge to gag. She could only imagine how unbearable the reek must be to Sebastian and his delicate senses.

            Nearing the harpy’s chest she noticed the declivity in its grey-skinned breast. With each breath the skin fluttered open, and cradled inside the darkened cavity she could make out the frantic pulse of an enormous heart.

            “Stab it!” Sebastian called, noticing her attentions. They dove for the exposed organ, but the bird was quicker, saving itself narrowly with a scuffle of wings. Snarling, the butler launched himself off the extent of Lizzy’s narrow blade, hurtling towards the avian and catching it in the torso once more.

            The creature croaked in displeasure, almost useless feet dangling beneath it and nearly brushing the earth. In a fit of desperation, it flailed them in defense, catching Lizzy’s upper arm and raking across it. The blonde hissed in pain, ignoring the torn and bloodied fabric of her dress and blocking out the sting of the fresh wound.

            Again the harpy brandished its talons, but the swordswoman pushed ahead, stabbing upwards with unforgiving accuracy. The barely adequate cut she had made before deepened across the bird’s abdomen, and, as if like a toy whose seams had burst, the skin rent open in an ebony torrent, squelching organs becoming visible.

            The scent was overwhelming, dropping Lizzy to her knees as she fought to keep from retching. Like this she was vulnerable – but just as she fought to stand Sebastian intervened, batting at the bird and driving it back towards the main road. Its body bashed against the trees, bending the branches that puncturing at the gigantic wings.

            Sebastian clung on, suspended in midair as he sunk his teeth into the juncture of a wing, growling loudly as the harpy struggled and screamed. Before he could disengage, the bird lunged forward, snapping its massive beak around the whole of the demon’s shoulder, breaking through the skin with ease.

            Sebastian screamed – actually screamed – and with a violent snarl he attacked, plunging spread claws at a milky eye. For a sickening moment, a slick warmth encapsulated his fingers as they slipped below the shallow lids, a whistling scream rattling his skull as the joints of his fingers automatically cricked into place, curling around their prize.

            The pain in his shoulder was unbearable, but he persisted as the bird began to thrash wildly, beak at last freed from his flesh as it croaked out an exclamation of surprise. Its wings beat frantically, shaking the demon fiercely in an attempt to be free of him. But Sebastian chuckled low in his throat, ripping away from the creature with a chorus of popping tendons.

            He fell back to the ground with a satisfied grin, landing ungracefully and tossing the deflated eye aside. His posture sagged as he favored his undamaged left side. The wound in his right would heal in time, but already it was losing a lot of blood, far more quickly than he liked. If he wasn’t careful even he would pass out from the loss, and with a strained growl he knew his time to best the bird was limited.

            Shaking the hand slicked with dark viscous fluid, he prepared his next attack. Above, the harpy fought to regain its sense of balance, croaking in dismay as it wobbled from side to side, its empty socket weeping into its plumage. High off his victory and determined to end the battle quickly, Sebastian sprung again, burying lacquered claws into the thick feathers of its chest.

            Unable to close around the bulky neck, the demon found security in the bent and broken feathers, wrenching them down viciously. The bird crashed down to the ground yet again, level with the butler’s height. Sebastian wasted no time yanking the tremendous head forward, hoping vainly to snap its neck altogether. With a gruesome creak its spine compressed from the sharp movements, the pressure threatening to paralyze it. Claws kicked up wildly, making broad swings that easily missed, the harpy proving unable to gauge the distance or position of the scoffing demon.

            “The heart!” Lizzy screamed from several meters off. “It can’t see you where you are!”

            Sebastian nodded curtly, unsure if the blonde could even see his response. Angling himself rapidly to the bird’s eyeless right side, he surged up to the palpitating chest, dodging the flurry of smoky feathers and burying his hand into the damp cavity of pulsating organs. For a split-second, the demon detected the florid scent he had previously identified as belonging to Cosette, the curious earthy notes of orange blossom of the Houbigant perfume. But just beyond it, another scent arose: dusky traces of musk, ambergris, and rose perforating his senses. That of the unknown succubus.

            The momentary distraction was enough for the harpy to right itself, and Sebastian’s grip slipped away from the erratic slick of the heart. He curled his claws forward desperately, feeling the smallest amount of fleshy organ wedge itself beneath his nails, and then he was stumbling backwards. An errant claw caught him on his descent, kicking up in the final seconds and nicking the underside of his chin.

            Sebastian grit out a pained cry, stumbling back a pace and pressing a dirtied hand to the deep cut, distantly thankful that his jaw hadn’t been shattered by the impact. The harpy cawed mockingly above him, already airborne and beating its soiled wings in self-proclaimed victory. The tension coiled in the demon’s limbs as the bird cocked its massive head, singular eye peering down opaquely at his huddled form.

            Sebastian made to his feet and gasped, shocked by the sudden weariness of his body and the shakiness in his limbs. He spared a glance to his injured shoulder and saw that it was still faintly weeping, blood bubbling forth with each exertion he made. But he had to settle things, had to protect Ciel no matter what.

            Suddenly Lizzy was at his side, blade brandished before her as she squared off fearlessly against the bird. “Don’t push yourself,” she demanded knowingly. The demon’s gaze faltered, and, dreamlike, he watched as the harpy made one last attack, only to be met by a blow from Lizzy that connected squarely with its neck. Screaming, its blackened blood congealing in the oily slick of its feathers, the harpy made its retreat, circling away and out of sight.

            Lizzy heaved a sigh of mixed relief and frustration, her outline silhouetted against the blue of the sky. Sebastian smiled in satisfaction, seeing her worried face turn to him right as he passed out.

            Lizzy called out in alarm as the demon’s form slumped unconsciously into the grass, his chest heaving with labored breaths. “Someone!” she screamed, beginning to shake. “Someone come quickly! PLEASE!”

            The front door exploded open and Agni and Iris rushed out, prepared for the worst. Their gazes landed on the blonde and the crumpled form lying prone at her feet. Terror seized the pair as they realized in unison just what – or rather who – they were looking at.

            “Sebastian!” Agni cried out, rushing forward and falling into a kneel at the demon’s side.

            “Oh God, oh God,” Lizzy whimpered. She could feel her whole body shaking. More than the threat to Ciel’s life, more than the appearance of the impossible avian, she had never been more horrified than to see Sebastian fall. All throughout her youth she had viewed him as the paragon of strength and grace, the one person who could never be bested in anything. To see him so feeble, so _human_ … it was more than she could bear.

            She watched as the white haired man shook his friend’s uninjured shoulder, a look of desperation clear on his face. His pale blue eyes began to water as he hefted the demon up into his lap, trying his hardest to pull them both up to stand. Iris came to his other side, easing herself under Sebastian’s dangling arm and bearing half his weight. Her expression was strained and pale, her lips worried between her teeth.

            “Is he?” Lizzy could barely form the question. “Will he be okay? Is he… is he… dy –.”

            “He’ll be fine,” Agni cut in quickly. “Mr. Sebastian always is, isn’t he? Even… even like this…” he shot Iris a beseeching look.

            “Lady Sullivan and I will tend to him immediately,” she promised at once. “With a little encouragement, his demonic blood should take over and begin the natural healing process…”

            Neither servant found the heart to say more and began to haul the battered man back towards the house. Lizzy remained a moment longer, heart racing and throat drawing tight. _‘Can I really do this? Will I end up…? No, it doesn’t matter. If it’s for Ciel, I would do anything,’_ she told herself resolutely. _‘There isn’t a friend I wouldn’t give my life to protect. There’s not a thing I wouldn’t do.’_

            Still unsteady, she returned to the lodge, barely noticed as she crossed the threshold. The entire house had sprung to life, swarming in the confines of the parlor as Sebastian was laid out across the couch. Siegline and Iris had sunk to their knees, hands linked and wands aloft as they urgently chanted words that Lizzy couldn’t quite make out.

            Agni sat in obvious distress in an armchair that had been pulled close to the side of the sofa, worrying fingers over his bandaged hand. In a surprising show of affection Souma sat perched on one arm of the chair, brushing his fingers through the few strands of long hair that hung to the side of Agni’s face, the beads laced within it clinking softly as the witches worked.

            Ciel stood at the other end of the couch, quivering fingers reaching out and brushing against the fevered flesh of the demon’s cheek. He didn’t speak or cry, staring transfixed at the man whose blood and sweat was seeping into the fabric of the furniture. Lizzy’s heart broke watching him. It was so clear that the earl held love for his butler, yet the two seemed so far away from one another.

 _‘Please just let him be happy,’_ she supplicated the Heavens. _‘Please, for once, just grant him this.’_

            “My lady!” came a startled gasp, and the whole of the room turned to look back to the doorway where Lizzy stood. Paula rushed to her side, covering her mouth to hide the gasp of horror she produced. “My… Lizzy… are you alright? Are you well? Should I fetch some water? You need to change, you must be –!”

            “Paula,” the blonde interjected tiredly. “I’m fine. A little scratched, but fine. Thanks to Sebastian, I…” she paused, swallowing hard. She couldn’t bear it if the demon ended up dying for her sake. “Please don’t worry about me,” she asserted, trying to hide the extent of her shoulder wound from the frazzled maid. She knew without further examination that it would need stitching, and she only hoped she would find the proper tools in the clearly antiquated lodge.

 _‘It still is more of a shack,’_ she argued distantly.

            “I need to change, please. These clothes are starting to smell,” she grimaced, the odors of the harpy evidenced in the drying blood left on her skirts. She let the brunette escort her into the bedroom, mind numbing out as she went through the motions of stripping down. She was left a moment as her maid went to fetch a basin of water, and in her nakedness she felt terribly and utterly alone.

 _‘Ciel,’_ she thought mournfully. Images of the true Ciel, the elder brother full of brilliant smiles and adventurous looks, filled her memory. _‘I miss you so, so much. If only you were here now. Would you have still loved me? Still valued me as a friend? Or would you… would you have left me alone?_

_‘You always knew just what to say, how to cheer me up. You were so kind and patient… so much more genuine than me. You never had to force your love upon somebody else; they all just loved you easily. Why… why am I so unwanted?_

_‘All I want is to do right by your brother, to protect him as you would have done. But I think in the end he’ll just hate me for it. He’s so damn stubborn and he tries – I know he tries – so hard to honor me. But by always taking on the hardships and the dangers by himself he worries all of those around him. Can’t he see how much it hurts us? How much we’d miss him if he were gone? For once I just wish he would accept how much others care: trust us, let us shoulder the burden, even just for a little while.’_

            She remembered their heated exchange in that very room not even an hour before. _“I don’t want your blood on my hands,”_ he had said.

 _‘Am I being a hypocrite?’_ she wondered. _‘Perhaps it’s true. But I’m sick of being the one being protected. He should know by now that I would fight for him till my last breath. I could have no regrets about dying for the sake of a friend. I’m not some feeble woman; I am so much more than my gender. I just wish, that for once, he could acknowledge that.’_

            Paula returned, sponging down her mistress’ body as the blonde stared off in thought. _‘You never had to face that quandary, did you, Ciel?’_ she asked pointlessly. She would face no revelation by talking to the dead, but she didn’t know where else to turn. _‘But he would have listened to you. And you would have known how to help, I just know you would. Please, if you can hear me somehow, lend me your strength. I need your guidance. Please, just keep him safe.’_

            She started slightly as Paula nudged her leg gently, a clean dress spread out before her and ready to step into. She allowed the action and dressed quickly, toying with the grey skirts and feeling entirely too somber. She had just barely finished putting herself back together when Ciel all but burst into the room, anxiety written all over his expression.

            “There you are!” he exclaimed.

            Paula tutted at the suddenness of his arrival, scooting out of the room and giving the two young people their space. Lizzy smiled gently at her cousin, trying earnestly not to look too bothered or too injured.

            “Are you well?” Ciel pressed, striding quickly across the small chamber. Without warning he threw his arms about her, drawing her into a tight hug. “Don’t you scare me like that,” he whispered hoarsely.

            Lizzy did her best to suppress the wince of pain as her shoulder was squeezed, determined not to let her state worry her cousin further. The shock she felt at the sudden gesture quickly ebbed and she leaned into the embrace, resting her forehead against the other’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ciel,” she returned softly. “But I’m fine, really.”

            The earl pulled away from her, hands still settled on her shoulders. “Fine?” he repeated, dark blue eye a tempest of emotion. “I thought I lost you! I thought I lost…” he faltered, looking to the wall beyond which his butler lay motionless.

            “Will he be alright?” Lizzy inquired anxiously.

            “I… I think so. He seems to be breathing easier and… and the wounds are looking better,” Ciel answered in stilted tones. “Please, Lizzy, don’t scare me like this,” his words were more honest than she’d heard in years.

            “What’s important now is that you’re safe,” the blonde stated calmly. “You and your… baby.”

            “But what about everyone else?” the earl asked, growing a bit hysterical. “I’m not worth people risking their lives over! Don’t you understand? I’m going to die young anyway. I know you know about Sebastian. That he’s a demon. That we have a contract. No matter how this plays out, I’m likely dead before I even hit thirty. Don’t waste your life on one that was never meant to last.”

            He gasped suddenly as a sharp sting lanced his cheek. Blinking hard he turned back to Lizzy, her flattened hand still raised.

            “Don’t talk about your life so casually!” she seethed, pinpricks of tears dotting her lash line. Ciel, Cecil: the names tumbled about in her brain, images of the two boys merging together until they were indistinguishable. She could always tell them apart, though, and she would always, always miss the boy that was lost to her. Anger filled her as she thought of how quickly he’d been forgotten. It wasn’t fair.

            But it wasn’t “Ciel’s” fault, either. The trauma he’d endured was enough to make anyone want to block away the truth and hide the memories from sight. Enough, apparently, to enter a fugue.

            She wished she could tell him, wished she could explain it all and restore him to the way he was meant to be: free of confusion and the burdens he bore. He was never even meant to bear the Phantomhive legacy: the younger twin of a forgotten brother.

            “Don’t talk about your life as if it’s nothing,” she repeated, far calmer. Anger and pain still bubbled beneath her words, unable to fully express themselves. “You have so much more to live for than you know,” she pressed, the tears slipping down her cheeks before she knew it.

            “You have friends that love you and people that care. You have a _child_ to live for. You are not and have never been disposable. What does it matter if you don’t make it another ten years? How does that make your existence any less valid or important?

            “No one knows when they’ll die, and that’s why it’s so important to make all our time count. Don’t you squander it or diminish it because you can see the end of the road already. I came here because I have someone to protect, someone _worth_ protecting. Don’t turn me away; don’t turn any of us away. We already know what we’re worth and what you’re worth to us. And that is something worth risking death for.

            “Please don’t diminish our love by preventing us from what we feel we must do. You take everything onto yourself: please let us alleviate that weight. Not one of us is here because we feel that we are obligated. We’re here because we want to be, because we couldn’t bear to be anywhere else. Just let us in, let us help you. You are not ‘nothing’ to us. Even after you’re gone you will never be ‘nothing’.

            “The memories we have of you, the impact that you’ve left on us? That is why we are here now with you and we will always, always be by your side. You don’t have to do everything on your own because you aren’t alone, you never will be, not ever again. So don’t talk about your life like it’s nothing because to the rest of us, it’s everything.”

            Ciel pulled her close, defenses breaking, and began to cry.


	17. Filbert

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Filbert**

_“Never close your lips to those whom you have already opened your heart.”_

– Charles Dickens

            Night settled over Savernake Forest and Ciel wandered the garden idly, never traveling far enough to fall out of the eyesight of Agni, who had been not-quite-covertly tailing him since he’d attempted to intervene with the harpy earlier in the day. The garden had once been an open space full of soft grass and flowers – large enough for Ciel to spend what seemed like hours tromping around with the departed Sebastian the dog.

But the shifting perspective of age and the invasion of briar and ivy had shriveled it down to nearly nothing save for the soft patch of recently-disturbed earth where they’d buried the Bizarre Doll parts. As such, the earl found himself pacing anxiously over the exposed soil, eyes constantly darting to the back door, where he hoped someone would emerge with good news about Sebastian’s condition.

            Ciel felt like his chest was caving in on itself. Although he was no stranger to bouts of anxiety, this was a completely different beast from what he was used to experiencing. Heady numbness was replaced by tension he felt all the way down to his bones, the base of his eyes constantly a-prickle with the promise of tears waiting to be shed. He was already humiliated for having broken down into tears in front of Elizabeth, and although he was quick to blame his propensity towards crying on the pregnancy, he knew that it wasn’t as simple as that.

            The fact of the matter was that Sebastian’s sacrifice had brought to light a myriad of feelings in Ciel that he had been fighting to keep pressed down. Under the fear, under the hurt, under every wall he had thrown up in a desperate attempt to protect himself was a little inkling of something that he dared not give breath to.

He’d felt it in the moments Sebastian had come to placate him and informed his master of his desires. It was there, fueling the fire behind his rage and jealousy when he discovered that Sebastian had been seeing Eugene behind his back. And it had grown in response to every caress the butler had bestowed upon him, every gentle look, and sincere-sounding word.

            And there it was, blossoming in his chest and fueled by sorrow: hope. Hope that Sebastian’s actions were sincere, that they were spurred on by something other than care for his child, that he felt the same things that had caused Ciel to—

            If the child really was just collateral to the demon, would he have really gone so far as to nearly lose his life protecting them? Could it have been there was a reason other than that he chose to fight with his life to keep Ciel and his baby from harm? If he nearly died in the process, then surely the soul he’d been fighting for was much more to him than just a meal. Meals couldn’t be enjoyed by the dead, after all.

            Could it be that Ciel was being far too critical of the butler? Of himself? There was always the possibility, the faintest hope that – somewhere along the eight years of knowing one another – Sebastian’s servitude had changed into something far more sincere. Maybe he didn’t want Ciel’s soul anymore? If he could love Eugene, then perhaps he could—

            It was much more than hope growing in Ciel’s breast, and that was the most terrifying realization of all.

            Ciel’s head turned automatically at the sound of the back door opening, and his heart almost stopped as he spotted Agni and Iris toting Sebastian out, each arm slung over their shoulders. For a moment, he feared that they were dragging him into the ice-house in order to preserve him – a sickeningly realistic callback to the time the butler’s ‘body’ had been brought down to the cellar of the Phantomhive manor for safekeeping. But he became relived when he saw just a sliver of red between the demons’ eyelashes, his ankles struggling to work. It appeared that he’d been drugged by whatever herbs Sieglinde and Iris had designated to give him.

            “What’s going on? He shouldn’t be out here!” Ciel demanded as the two carried him towards the open expanse of the clearing in the copse where they’d been having the majority of their confrontations as of late. Sieglinde followed close behind the trio and walked up to Ciel, gracefully maneuvering the bluebell stocks with her crutches despite a satchel slung across her breast.

            “It’s the best place for what we need to do – he can’t heal like this and, frankly, there isn’t enough room in the lodge.” she said, as if her strange words explained everything he needed to know.

            “Enough room for what?” Ciel inquired. Perhaps Sieglinde and Iris needed ample space to perform some sort of ritual? Sieglinde did not respond, returning her attention to Agni, Sebastian, and Iris. The two servants were easing Sebastian into the soft forest carpet, taking care to mind the bindings on his arm.

            They stepped back, allowing Sebastian ample space. Iris knelt down at his side, peeling back one of the demon’s eyelids grotesquely.

“Can you hear me?” she inquired; her only response with a slurred mumble. The maid clicked her tongue and shook her head, glancing back at Sieglinde.

“He’s completely out of it, I don’t think he can do this on his own,” she told Sieglinde. “I’m glad we have his true name, though. We’d never be able to do this without the proper seal.”

“Do _what_?” Ciel demanded, losing his already-waning patience. Sieglinde reached into her satchel, removing a black candle and setting it down by her feet.

“We’re going to have to release his true form,” she explained. “He won’t be able to heal himself properly while he’s wearing this… human skin.”

Ciel though distantly back to the times Sebastian had come apart at the seams, his being spilling out around him in a mass of black smoke and coiling tendrils. He’d seen it enough that it no longer caused him any concern – Sebastian _had_ originally come to Ciel in that form, after all. But now there was a primal fear that the demon would simply evanesce away the second his human suit fell away. As if the mortal flesh was the only thing containing his being. For a moment, Ciel wanted to protest, but realized that Sieglinde and Iris would not have suggested it if it were unsafe.

The witches finished circumnavigating Sebastian, having laid five black candles in a circle around him. Sieglinde dropped down on her knees before the first candle she had placed and gestured for Agni to step out of the circle. He was still kneeling beside the barely-conscious Sebastian, holding the butler’s uninjured hand in both of his own. His brows were drawn together and there was a steady stream of silent tears coursing down his cheeks. At Sieglinde’s signal, he squeezed Sebastian’s hand and pressed a chaste kiss to the other man’s forehead before reluctantly joining the others by their sides.

“I have to warn you,” Iris said lowly, facing Agni and Ciel in turn. “Sebastian’s true form… I… I really don’t know what he looks like. It may be a little—.”

“I don’t care,” Ciel shook his head. “If it’s anything like I’ve seen in the past, it’s of no importance to me. As long as this will help him heal faster, I don’t have any qualms.”

“I’m not fearful in the least. My sentiments remain exactly the same as Master Ciel’s,” Agni said, not a hint of artifice in his voice. “Please,” his face was overcome with desperation. “Do whatever is necessary to heal him.”

Sieglinde nodded and groped around her satchel for a piece of parchment paper and a little knife. Fearlessly, she drove the point of the knife into her fingertip and began to draw out a sigil in her blood, squeezing it with her thumb and finger whenever she needed to encourage more out of her vein.

            She muttered to herself, withdrawing her wand from her bag and pressing the emerald tip to the center of the sigil that she had painted. Ciel felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up, the mark under his eyepatch flaring to life in response to the Green Witch’s actions. Suddenly, one by one, each of the black candles burst into impossible blue flame before dying down to little lights, each dancing oddly in the setting sun.

            “Malphas,” Sieglinde said in a voice heady with trance. “Reveal unto me your true form.”

            Suddenly, Sebastian’s body jerked like a marionette whose strings had been suddenly pulled. Ciel started, attempting to step into the circle of candles, but was barred by Iris throwing out her arm. The demon’s head tilted back, jaw snapping – literally _snapping_ – open with a grotesque noise. Like the night Ciel had ordered Sebastian to have him, the demon’s body seemed to ripple at the frame, that ebony, tendril-like smoke pouring from his open mouth. And like that, the dense black fog enveloped his body, growing in size and becoming that massive dark cloud Ciel recalled had swept into the awful temple-like hall where he’d been kept prisoner years ago.

            But this time it began to coalesce into a solid form, taking shape and drawing the smoke back into a body the size of a horse. Ciel took a step back, beholding the dark feathers trembling into place. A massive black raven lay collapsed in the clearing, its head replaced by a bird skull that seemed to hover independently of the body, tipped in dark horns framed in a collar of high, black plumage. Long, trailing tail feathers spread out over the bluebell stocks, curled and beautiful. They were a pure, matte black color, having none of the harpy’s pearlescent oiliness.

            Upon regaining his true form, Malphas released a creaking sigh and pressed his cheekbone into the thick grass, a shiver running from his tail feathers up to the high feathers on his neck. He leaned to shift some of the weight off of his injured wing and settled his sightless eye sockets onto Ciel.

He shivered again, more smoke billowing over the skull, forming a neck and encasing it and the skull in feathers. Eyes like black jewels looked at Ciel now, settling into a half-lidded state as Malphas began to take heavy, labored breaths. Black smoke was pouring from the injury in his wing as his body struggled to repair itself.

            Ciel stood and stared, a bit electrified by the abrupt change. Before asking permission from Sieglinde, he stepped into the circle of candles and lowered himself to his knees at Sebastian’s uninjured left side. Making sure that the demon could see him, Ciel tentatively reached out and ran his fingertips over a large, soft feather.

            “I think,” said Sieglinde very softly. “We’ll leave you two alone for a moment, Ciel.”

            “Thank you,” the earl said quietly, stoking Sebastian’s wing again in a broader motion. He flinched as something heavy and warm was placed over his shoulders. He looked down to see that Iris had draped a soft pink cloak over them. She met him with a sincere smile, patting his shoulder gently.

            “We’ll be nearby in case anything happens,” the maid told him before turning and following the others into the garden. Ciel looked back to Sebastian, who was still watching him with those animal eyes alight with sentience. Carefully, he moved over to the demon’s head and settled it in his lap, gently running his hands along the downy head feathers. Sebastian produced a soft, trilling caw and his eyes slid shut once more in a mix of content and the effects of whatever potion was coursing through his system. Despite the demon’s monstrous form, Ciel felt closer to Sebastian than he ever had before – in just being able to touch him so gently and have his actions accepted affectionately.

            “You know,” the earl said softly, patting Sebastian on the crown of his head. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to remember what I say, but… I need to say it now, while I’m absolutely certain I have the chance.” He swallowed, raising Sebastian’s head off of his lap and holding it between his hands. He stared the beautiful raven in the eyes, licking his lips as he contemplated his words.

            “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve been awful to you lately. I’ve never known your true feelings, and the moment you take the time to inform me I shut you out. I’m hurt, and I’m… I’m scared, Sebastian,” Ciel admitted. “I’m more terrified than I’ve been since – since the day I met you. I don’t know how to be that kind, how to raise a _child_. I just want—.

            “I want the same things you do, if I’m being completely honest. I really do. And I think – I think part of the reason I lashed out at you so hard is because it just sounded too good to be true,” he bowed his head. “And I’m just – I know I’m being selfish. I want a family of my own because I want a second chance at having one, and that isn’t fair to her and it isn’t fair to you. Especially because you’re…” Ciel stared away, cheeks tinting in a blend of shame and embarrassment. “You’re in love with someone else. This happened because I forced it on you – and even if you could’ve told me about the consequences I just—.

            “I could never force you to stay by my side when you don’t want this child – when you don’t want _me_.”

            At this, Sebastian produced a miserable caw and gently butted his head against Ciel’s chest, cooing into it sadly. The earl pet his feathers, burying his face into the plush crown of Sebastian’s head. Despite himself, his eyes were stinging with tears, his shoulders trembling with effort to keep his emotions in check. But it was growing so difficult, especially when he had finally been able to bring himself to admit his feelings.

            “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I’m making the right choices, and I feel so _alone_. I’m sorry for being so selfish, for being so _jealous_. It’s unfair to you and it’s unfair to me. I’ve been so _awful_ to you and I just don’t know how to make it up to you. And what’s worst of all is—.”

            He pressed his face deeper into the soft plumage, heaving a tremulous breath. “I wasn’t even able to recognize my feelings for what they were until it was almost too late. I know now that this isn’t a game to you anymore – that this child isn’t collateral. If she really was and if you really only cared about me for my soul, you wouldn’t have put your life on the line to protect us. What I’m trying to say is that I – I –.”

            Ciel laughed, pulling back and pressing his palms into his eyes, “The reason I was so jealous, so scared, so angry – why I lashed out so hard against you is because I was convinced that you were still playing a game. I was so hurt that you would choose Eugene,” he stopped, his words dropping to a whisper. “That you would choose him over me. It was because—.”

            The earl sobbed, pushing his palms into his eyes even harder to elicit little bursts of white and color on the inside of his eyelids, “I’m so selfish. I shouldn’t even tell you this; it would only serve to make you feel guilty in the end. You’ve made your choice and I want to respect that, but – but you nearly _died_ and I –.”

            He was babbling at this point, his heart thrumming up into his throat, causing him to choke on his words. “I don’t want anything to happen to you without you knowing that – that I don’t hate you, Sebastian. Malphas. Whoever you choose to be, I don’t and I _can’t_ hate you. I –.”

            He stopped, a cool pair of hands resting over his cheeks. Ciel dropped his hands to his sides, looking into the demon’s eyes. Malphas sat before him, hair void of his part and falling over his garnet eyes. He was clothed in light, dark armor, long black claws extending from the gauntlets strapped to the backs of his hands. Ebony wings rested on his back, folded away and making it look as if he wore a cape of feathers. The person kneeling before him looked incredibly different, but was still very much the same.

            He smiled, using his thumbs to brush away Ciel’s tears. He looked weary, but seemed much more conscious than when he’d originally been brought into the field to heal. Ciel released a pathetic sob and reached up to cup the back of one of Sebastian’s – Malphas’ – the demon’s hands, leaning into the caress with everything he had.

            “I care for you,” he whispered through the tears. “I really, genuinely care for you. And I want to believe you, but I’m just so _scared_ —.”

            Still smiling, Sebastian raised Ciel’s face a little. “I’m genuinely relieved, Ciel. Ever since this began, I’ve only wanted what’s best for you. Thank you for finally talking to me. I understand how difficult it is for you to express your emotions, and I want you to know how important it is for me to hear them.”

            Ciel nodded, still crying despite himself. “I’m so sorry I waited until now to tell you.”

            Sebastian shook his head. “No. You took the time you needed. I… I did very wrong by you to hide this – to hide the depth of my feelings for Eugene. I should have been forthcoming from the start, Ciel. I hurt you, and you needed time to think things over and heal.”

            “I tried to rid of her,” Ciel blurted out, not entirely certain where his words were coming from. Everything just seemed to be flowing from his mouth in a torrent of emotion. “I tried to stab myself with the paper knife, but I just – I _couldn’t._ I _can’t_. I’ve lost so much already, I’ve _taken_ so much from others, and I just – I want – so _badly_ I want –.”

            Sebastian ran his fingers through Ciel’s hair, pressing his face into the earl’s soft, hoary tresses as he allowed him to stumble over his words and cry.

            “It’s a genuine relief to hear that you want to keep the baby,” Sebastian admitted, pulling away from Ciel and continuing to stroke his cheek affectionately. “Like I said, I don’t want an heir. I don’t want anything for them that they wouldn’t want themselves – to be honest, I just want them to be happy. I just want _you_ to be happy, Ciel.”

            “But – my soul –,” Ciel mumbled stupidly between heavy tear-laden breaths. Sebastian’s kind smile returned and he brought the earl into an embrace.

            “I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to believe me, but that’s the farthest thing from my mind at the moment. Things have changed so much in the past eight years – especially recently. I… was never certain if you returned the affections I have for you, but to find that you care for me is just –.”

            Ciel pulled away, eyes wide and startled. “You,” he started, licking his lips. “You _care_ for me? But what about – what about Eugene?”

            “There isn’t a limit to how many people you can care for,” Sebastian said, looking a little sheepish. “It – it may be uncouth from a human’s point of view, but just because I love Eugene doesn’t mean I care for you any less, Ciel.”

            Ciel felt like his body had collided with a wave of relief. He sagged in Sebastian’s arms, laughing through his receding tears hoarsely. He sniffed and wiped his face with the back of his hand, clutching Sebastian’s feathers as if his life depended upon it. Sebastian _cared_ for him, perhaps even – perhaps he even felt something deeper. But it was such a sapling feeling that the earl was too afraid to even pursue the line of thought. Instead, he pulled away from Sebastian a little, continuing to wipe the tears from his face. The demon reached out and resumed stroking his hair, Ciel reveling in the affectionate feelings.

            “What do you want to do?” Sebastian asked quietly, fiddling with a grey tress. “Just know that I’ll never hate you, no matter what you decide. It won’t make me feel for you any less.”

            Ciel’s heart fluttered and he smiled, finally regaining some vague sense of composure. “I… like I said, I could never rid of her. No matter what, I’m determined to see this through. I just – I don’t know if I can provide for her like a parent ought to. What sort of excuse we could come up with to hide the scandal.”

            “My sister died in childbirth out of wedlock,” Sebastian said suddenly. “And my kind master has taken his butler’s nibling in as his ward.”

            The earl laughed at the impossibly simple solution, wondering if it would truly be able to explain away the baby in the eyes of fine society. But it made him feel another rush of relief all the same – it was to be expected that Sebastian would have already thought of a way to save his master’s reputation.

            “But – like I said, I know it’s selfish of me to want to raise a child simply for the fact that I want a second chance at having a family,” Ciel repeated. “But I want the best for her so badly. I want to be able to provide that for her, even though I know I’d do an awful job.”

            “First off, who’s to say that that’s a selfish wish?” Sebastian frowned, his hand leaving its post at the crown of Ciel’s head and joining with his hand. Ciel allowed the affectionate gesture, twisting up his fingers with Sebastian’s claws. “I think it’s natural for humans – for _anybody –_ to want a family for their own. I don’t think it’s selfish at all: to want the happiness of having your own family. It’s only in the nature of a living being to want the best for their child, after all. And I sincerely think you’ll be a lot better parent than you give yourself credit for.”

            Ciel laughed incredulously, “Do you think?”

            Sebastian nodded, “Hell, I certainly hope so for myself.”

            The earl laughed again, “You’re _impeccable_. I didn’t think you were capable of doubting yourself.”

            “It happens,” Sebastian smiled a little wryly. “I’ve doubted myself a lot, as of late. I haven’t had any idea about how to handle this situation, which is why I went about it in such an awful way.”

            “That explains it,” Ciel smiled down at their joined hands, linking the others as well. “I think of you as being so… unflappable that I interpreted your misgivings as purposeful.”

            “That was certainly not the case at all,” Sebastian assured him. “But… Ciel, I want you to know that I’ll support you no matter what you choose. And if – if you truly want a family, if you want to raise this child together, I’ll be there by your side.” He squeezed the earl’s hands as Ciel’s heart began to flutter in his chest. “And it won’t make me miserable. Like I said, I care for you very deeply. I’m afraid, but I want to raise this child with you, if that’s what you want.”

            Eyes misting over once more, Ciel barked out a sobbing laugh, nodding his head enthusiastically. “Yes,” he whimpered, “Yes, it really is.”

            Sebastian released Ciel’s hands and pulled him forward into another embrace, tucking his head into his shoulder.

            “Thank you,” the demon said softly. “I know this isn’t easy for you Ciel. Thank you.”

**Xxxxxxxxxx**

            The rest of the evening had gone markedly better for Sebastian Michaelis.

Having regained enough energy in his limbs to rouse his aching body from the carpet of bluebell stalks, he – under Ciel’s anxious gaze – had made it back to the crowded lodge and found himself a space on the beat up couch. His return brought a great deal of noise and fuss, a surprising profusion of sentiment from his comrades that was enjoyed for all of a few minutes before he felt quite overwhelmed.

            “Sebastian, you should really lie down,” Agni was the first to quip.

            “I’m feeling much restored, actually.”

            “Is there anything you’d like? Something to drink?” Iris cut in.

            “I couldn’t possibly –.”

            “Should I change your bandages? They seem a bit loose,” Sieglinde fretted.

            “No need, as I’m almost healed.”

            “Did you and Ciel make up yet?” Souma pouted pointedly.

            “SOUMA!” Ciel exclaimed, batting at his friend’s face as a smile began to curl upon it. Turning to the rest of his companions, he snapped, “God, would you all give him just a little bit of room? You act like some miracle has occurred – this _is_ Sebastian, after all.”

            “Hey!” Souma countered with a grin. “Let us be happy about it – it’s not like you weren’t pacing circles all afternoon yourself!”

            “Sod off,” the earl returned, too tired to sound annoyed. Not knowing what to do with himself he helped arrange Sebastian on the couch, sitting closer to him than particularly necessary. The demon hummed a little laugh and boldly draped an arm around his shoulders, coaxing him to relax against his uninjured shoulder.

            Ciel blushed at the public display of intimacy but relented, too overjoyed by the small gesture to turn away. After a moment he settled himself comfortably beneath the juncture of his butler’s arm, resting his own as innocently as he could manage over both their laps. He was close enough to hear the faint flutter of a heartbeat in the demon’s chest, blinking in surprise as he thought he heard the rhythm increase.

            Sebastian shot him a fond smile, nuzzling his nose a moment into the crown of the other’s head. He wished he could express himself fully, as a demon might, but he knew that the litany of foreign mannerisms – most of them animal-like in nature – would come across as confusing or odd. Feeling the most contented he had in nearly two weeks, he turned to the rest of the room.

            His friends had arranged themselves awkwardly across the tight space, all but sitting on top of each other as they watched in clear anticipation for some sort of explanation. _‘Since when did my personal life gain a public audience?’_ he thought amusedly to himself.

            He knew he’d have some thanks to disburse, providing his close shave earlier in the day. Iris and Sieglinde had done commendably to repair him to his usual self, working themselves much harder than he felt they needed to. He had been privy to their tears as they soundlessly worked and had felt struck by the notion that the two women would care so deeply for him.

            Iris had seen to some of the more practical exercises – stitching closed what wounds she could and passing warm or cool cloths over his brow when suited. Her mistress had been the one doing the brunt of the spellwork, ceaselessly incanting some charm or another. The potion they’d had him drink was the bitterest thing he’d ever ingested and he was glad to have been only half-conscious when he’d had to imbibe.

            But as thankful as he was, he couldn’t help but feel the vaguest sense of chagrin: Malphas made a point to never be indebted to anyone. Even under his role of butler, Sebastian made sure to outperform in every task he was ascribed: if he was consistently outstanding then there would be no need to make anything up to anyone. Rather, his excessive bursts of apparent generosity did quite the opposite, putting others in _his_ debt, real or imagined. And that was the way he liked the score to be settled.

            His lips twisted in frustration, words of thanks tangled up in his throat. He had no idea how he would ever repay the two witches for their kindness, especially when their help had come at so high of stakes. _‘Iris is going to rub this in my face for as long as she can,’_ he grumbled. But before he had chance to voice his gratitude, Souma cut in, a look of perturbed curiosity plain on his features.

            “How long, exactly, have you been a _giant bird_?” he asked, gesturing with his hands for emphasis. The Green Witch shot him a sour look, jabbing an elbow into his ribs. Apparently he wasn’t supposed to inquire about it.

            Sebastian blinked in surprise, not really certain what to say. “All of my life? I think?” he returned, not really solid on the details. He hadn’t always been conscious of the fact that he could morph into an ungodly avian, but that hadn’t meant he had ever lacked the capability to do so, either.

            “I’m sorry we had to force the transformation,” Sieglinde knit her brows worriedly. “It was the only other thing we could think of doing, although I suspect it was a bit… painful.”

            “Revealing that form is always… uncomfortable,” the demon remedied, trying to mince his words. He didn’t exactly want to explain how the change required his bones to break, regrow, and reset. Shrinking back down into the more comfortable human form was always easier, after all.

“You were right to try it; I hope this doesn’t implicate your status as a witch, however?” he added, cocking a brow. He knew very well that working with such entities was on the darker side of the spectrum when it came to craft: as the reasons for summoning or controlling a demon were often for selfish or violent causes, it could only be described as black magick.

            The young witch shifted uncomfortably on the threadbare rug, running her palms over her knees. Her tight smile and shake of the head showed him that she, herself, wasn’t sure where she would stand with her own coven. _‘Honestly,’_ the demon thought, feeling a bit guilty. _‘She didn’t need to go that far just for my sake.’_

            Lizzy seemed to get the drift of the girl’s reaction as well, leaning in beside her and petting at her hair consolingly. The swordswoman was someone else he had to thank and was, invariably, indebted to as well. _‘If all of Hell could see me now,’_ he scoffed internally. _‘My life put in the hands of three human women. Sounds like something out of a fable.’_

            “I must thank… all of you…” he parsed out, testing the words on his lips. He had thanked and apologized and forgave hundreds of times in the past eight years, but this time felt entirely different. _‘I’m no longer afforded the façade of ‘Sebastian’,”_ he reminded himself. He felt acutely conscious of his companion’s awareness of his identity.

            “I hardly think I would have healed well without your intervention,” he pressed, nodding to the two witches. “And on my own I most likely would have still been out in that field, so… I suppose… things could have gone far worse without you all.”

            “No need to get sentimental,” Ciel drawled wryly from under his arm. The demon sniffed a laugh and gave the other a gentle squeeze.

            “Coming from y–?”

            The group froze as a melodic knock sounded against the front door. The muscles in Sebastian’s body strained as he soared into high gear, ready to tear whoever threatened the happy little assemblage at such a late hour. Sensing his aggressiveness, Ciel placed a hand to the demon’s chest, pressing gently as he rose. The message was clear: stay put.

            The earl crossed the quieted room with measured steps, dropped hand balled into a fist. The other he rose and carefully drew back the curtain, peering through the darkness to the front step. A moment later and he recoiled, cocking his head in confusion and reaching for the handle.

            “Master Ci –,” Agni made to intercede, but the younger was shaking his head and waving him off.

            “It’s fine,” he muttered, opening the door and letting in a rush of cool air.

            Eugene Fehr stood – no, slouched – on the small porch, hand braced against the casing of the frame and long white hair falling around his face in sheets. His skin – usually a strange and sickly grey – looked even more drained than usual, bluish circles rimming his heavily lidded eyes. His clothes were rumpled and bits of long grass clung to the folds, giving him the impression that he’d just been rolling around in the countryside, which wasn’t far from the truth.

            “You look like shit,” Ciel said by way of greeting.

            The undertaker hiccupped a little laugh, an easy grin cracking over his lips. “Evenin’, li’l earl,” he answered softly.

            Seething, Sebastian found himself at the door in a moment’s notice, startling everyone but the other preternatural being. Clamping a hand down over Ciel’s shoulder he angled the younger man behind him, half shielding his body with his own. “What the _hell_ are you doing around here?” he hissed.

            He knew he himself must look dreadful: obvious bandages and encrusted blood still clear along his half-clothed body. He had drawn on his dress shirt for modesty, but between it and his wrappings, his chest was nearly bare. Under Eugene’s interested gaze he suddenly felt the need for more clothing.

            “I jus’ came t’ talk wi’ Ciel,” the mortician responded plaintively.

            “Some nerve you have,” the demon narrowed his eyes. “I thought it was made clear to you not to show your face around here.”

            “Please, love?”

            “Don’t.”

            “Sebastian…” Ciel spoke up, a bit wary.

            “I’ll deal with this.”

            “Deal wi’ wot?”

            And with that, Sebastian’s fist connected squarely with Eugene’s jaw, knocking him flat out. The reaper wavered, eyes blown wide in surprise, then his lashes fluttered shut and he crumpled bodily to the ground.

            “Dealt with it,” the butler announced darkly, turning to his master for further instruction. Ciel didn’t quite meet his gaze, staring in mild mortification at the unmoving form of the man just beyond the door.

            “Is he… dead?” the earl bit out. “Did you kill him? What’s…?”

            Sebastian wheeled around, instantly suspicious and – though he would never admit it – the smallest bit panicked. Taking a step into the outdoors he knelt beside the fallen man, turning him over and feeling at his scarred neck. Pushing past memories of passionate bites and languorous kisses, he felt for a pulse, pressing his fingers to the side of the man’s throat. Finding it, he relaxed, staring at the motionless form and feeling entirely perplexed.

Then the tiniest snore startled both he and Ciel into incredulous laughter. “He’s _asleep_?” the earl barked through his giggles. “You decked him and now he’s _taking a nap_.”

            “I…” the demon mused in disbelief. “He must have not slept in a very long time,” was all he could fathom. It wasn’t unlike the mortician, after all, to deal with bouts of insomnia during which he worked fervently for days on end, spurred on by his supernatural ability to forego rest.

            “How long, do you think?” Ciel mused, becoming serious once more.

            “Well, we last saw him a week ago…”

            “A week!?” the younger man exclaimed. “Is that even possible? Wouldn’t one… die? Or at least hallucinate horribly. Maybe even grow a bit paranoid.”

            “He’d be more resilient than a human, mind,” Sebastian shook his head. “But yes, those… side effects… would certainly be present.”

            “So now what do we do with him?” Ciel posed, drumming his fingers against the doorframe. “I don’t suppose we can just leave him out here.”

            “Why not?” the demon asked flatly.

            “ _Sebastian_!”

            “Alright,” the other all but huffed. “But I’m dragging him by his ankles.”

            Awkwardly he rose to stand, hefting the unconscious man behind him like a broken doll. The undertaker’s long hair fluttered behind him limply, tangling with leaves and grass in an instant. Gracelessly, the butler moved his former lover into the parlor, instantly gaining Agni’s help in settling the sleeping man into an armchair. His head immediately lolled to one side, looking almost broken as his cheek came to rest on a darkly clad shoulder.

 _‘Good,’_ Sebastian thought venomously. _‘Hope your neck is killing you when you wake up.’_ Waving his friend off he turned to the remainder of his companions, all of whom sat in stunned silence. Iris and Sieglinde, meanwhile, glared murder at him and instantly he understood their distress.

            “You two should go to bed,” he insisted, sounding much kinder than he thought he would. “Please leave handling him to me.” The witches brightened, surprised by their dismissal, and Iris promptly helped her mistress into the other room, quickly accompanied by Lizzy and Paula. A moment later and Souma and Agni followed suit.

            Ciel heaved a sigh of relief, settling onto the couch and all but sprawling across the cushions. He had had a tiring day and wasn’t up for much more ruckus. He shot Eugene a wary look with his exposed eye, narrowing it fiercely. “Don’t let him try anything,” he commanded needlessly, flopping onto his side and nuzzling into the sofa. “Until he wakes, I’m sleeping.”

            “Yes, my lord,” Sebastian answered automatically, voice distant to his own ears. His eyes were trained solely on the resting form of Eugene, feeling his own chest swell with poison and despair. He waited until he could discern the slowing of Ciel’s heartbeat, knowing that he had drifted off into an easy sleep.

            He didn’t really know what he hoped for in the privacy of the moment. Half of him wanted to tear the man apart, to deal back the pain he had been made to feel. To fully rebuke him and be done with the whole messy situation.

            But that wasn’t what he really wanted and he knew it. He knew, despite his past determinations to remain free of attachments and emotions, that his heart was inextricably bound with the reaper’s own. To think of Eugene dead or dying, well… that was enough to make Sebastian’s chest pound with anxious fear. There would be no quick and clean terminus to the relationship they had held.

            The demon ran his fingers across the furniture, picking at the lifted threads of the couch and worming them back into the fabric. He didn’t want to acknowledge the desperate thoughts rising to the top of his consciousness. In the silence of the parlor it was hard to ignore those fleeting little pleas not to give up. _‘Reconsider this,’_ his own voice begged him. _‘Don’t try to stop loving him, you can’t.’_

            Aggravated with himself, Sebastian sunk into the seat, draping himself over the rest of the arm so that his body inclined toward the accompanying chair. Careful not to disturb Ciel, he curled his legs beneath him, adopting a comfortable posture only suitable for being alone.

            It should have felt far more awkward, he realized, to have found himself sitting between two lovers, both estranged in their own way. Despite having raised and tended to him for eight years, who Ciel really was was still a bit of a mystery to him. The earl was never keen to talk about his own personal desires or ambitions, leaving the demon with a host of curiosities. After all, it had been a long while since Ciel’s sole motivation was vengeance and sweets.

            Eugene… well… He looked at the man, taking in his vulnerable state. He hated the swelling desire to lean forward and kiss him, to brush the long strands from his face, to twist them between his fingers. Guilt unfurled in his gut. There was no point in denying that he still loved the other man, even if he had been betrayed by him. But that betrayal had been at the risk of Ciel’s own life – of his _child’s_ life – and that alone should have been unforgivable.

 _‘Should have been,’_ Sebastian echoed to himself with distaste. _‘And what sort of parent does that make me, exactly? That I could even think of overlooking such a thing as that. And for what? My own… convenience? To shelter my own ignorance?’_

 _‘But no,’_ he lamented, rising from the couch soundlessly. _‘I know you too well: I know that no matter how fucked your logic, you’d never intentionally want to cause harm: that you’d rather punish yourself at any cost. You foolish, foolish man. Don’t you understand that by doing such things you just drag others down with you? That your own attempts at redemption are in truth selfish and destructive? Will you ever learn to just_ live _?’_

            Roaming the room a few paces he returned to his seat, bristled brush in hand. Deliberating a moment longer, he bent forward, capturing a silvery tress in his palm, and running the brush through it. As he’d anticipated, the silken hair had tangled in many places and clumped the moment he made to tug too hard. Willing his thoughts to leave him, he passed the time brushing through the reaper’s abused mane, working in little sections from the bottom to the top.

            By the time he was twining the long strands into a small braid, the mortician began to stir, eyes fluttering blearily against the dim light of the parlor. “Wot time s’it?” he mumbled, trying to get his bearings. As if suddenly remembering himself, he stilled, sliding his gaze over to Sebastian, whose fingers were still fixed in his hair. “Tha’s pretty,” he complimented lightly, nodding to the little braid.

            Sebastian said nothing but nodded, finishing it off and quickly retracting his hands. They sat in silence for a moment longer before the demon felt ready to crawl out of his skin. “What are you doing here?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “Why is it you risked coming back?”

            “I wanted t’ apologize.”

            “Apologize?” the demon repeated with some incredulity. It didn’t help that it was the answer he wanted to hear. “Do you even know what to apologize for?”

            “Well for starters ‘ow abou’ my attack on Ciel?” Eugene offered with a sheepish look. “I could ‘ave killed ‘im, very well tried to, an’… well, tha’s jus’ not somethin’ I can take back.”

            Sebastian decided not to point out the fact that yes, he very well _could_ take it back, being a reaper and all. “So what, you’re feeling regret, is that it? You know, for nearly murdering someone?”

            “‘E’s my godson,” the mortician frowned. “I promised Vincent tha’ I’d look after ‘im no matter wha’ ‘appened. ‘E’d be so disappointed t’ see this now.”

            The demon snorted in derision. “So is it that you’re sorry for trying to harm Ciel and our _child_ or that you’re sorry for letting someone down in theory?”

            “Both!” Eugene answered fervently. “I… well… I know it doesn’t matter wha’ Vincent would or wouldn’t think. You’re right, ‘e’s dead. But I ‘aven’t done right by Ciel –.”

            “As your godson, you mean?” Sebastian questioned hotly. “Or as a person? Because so far all I’m hearing are apologies for those things that affect you. Are you more sorry to have your self-perception shattered or for acting in a way that could harm those around you?”

            “Malphas…”

            “Answer me!”

            “Well I suppose tha’ it’s a bit o’ both there, too!” the reaper returned fretfully. “I don’t wish t’ lie t’ you, Mal. It’s ‘ard for me t’ think tha’ I’ve not lived up t’ the needs and expectations o’ others. I’m not good wi’ tha’ an’ I feel as if I am always, always failin’ in tha’ department. But don’t think I’m not sorry for almost ‘urtin’ your li’le family, either.

            “I know it doesn’t make sense t’ you an’ I know tha’ it isn’t the solution. But I wanted t’ try an’ protect Ciel one last time before some ‘arpy or succubus destroyed ‘im forever. I wanted to spare ‘im the sadness of losin’ a child.”

            “By killing him?” Sebastian stated coldly. “You wanted to spare his feelings by ending both their lives? Why? Because of your own feelings? Because of Sara?”

            The reaper winced, pulling away as if struck. Sebastian was the only person outside his wife’s own family that knew of his ill-fated daughter. He hadn’t meant to tell him, not at first. It was just hard to hide the fact when he carried with him the toys he had made in anticipation of her birth. The demon had found them when trying to clean up his space at the rental, extracting from a box a string of wooden goats, each painted with a letter of her name.

            “What’s this?” he’d asked in confusion, fingering the faded and splintering wood.

            “Nothin’,” Eugene had lied quickly, all but snatching the unused toy away from him. He cradled the little animals in his hands forlornly, not sure of where to set them.

            “Who’s ‘Sara’?” Sebastian had pressed, a hand put kindly to the reaper’s shoulder. The mortician had faltered, unable to check his tears. They had sprung forth from the surprise of seeing her name again, of holding close to him the last reminders of her dreadfully short life. Then he broke down and pulled the demon close to him by the waist, burying his face in the crook of the other’s neck.

            He’d told him everything then: about how his wife, Clairice, had grown increasingly ill as the pregnancy wore on, about how he’d tried to convince her to keep fighting, trying to keep both her and the baby. How he’d ended up losing them both, left with no choice but to reap their souls, feeling their lives entirely on his hands. Knowing he’d never have had to lose his wife. How he would have no choice but to lose his daughter: a harpy, after all, was doomed to a short life if they even made it through infancy at all.

            But now Sebastian was furious, lips pined back in a feral snarl. “Ciel isn’t you, Eugene,” he hissed, still checking his voice to kept from waking the earl. “And you can’t undo your mistakes by living through others, by taking autonomy from others. This child – our _daughter_ – she isn’t Sara, she isn’t like her at all and she won’t bring her back, either. She’ll be her own person, she’ll be strong, be able to live. And you tried to take that from her, from us.”

            “I was wrong,” Eugene appealed, furrowing his brow. “I made a mistake and God I’m glad I didn’t finish wha’ I started. I should never ‘ave tried to speak for you or for Ciel. I should ‘ave stayed by you – by both of you – an’ tried t’ think o’ another way. Rather than workin’ against you, now when you need the most support an’ ‘elp.”

            Sebastian mulled over the apology thoughtfully, feeling his anger dwindle. “So what made you change your mind?” he asked at length.

            “Clairice finally talked some sense in t’ me,” the undertaker whispered, a bit melancholy. “She always knew wha’ t’ do.”

            “Clairice?” the demon frowned. “Eugene, you know that she’s –?”

            “Dead?” the other smiled sadly, meeting his companion’s gaze. “I know, love. Bu’… she gives me a bit o’ perspective, even now. Even if… even if ‘er advice is jus’ my own.”

            “So…” Sebastian pressed. “What did ‘she’ advise you?”

            “A lot o’ things,” Eugene responded, growing distant once more. His fingers busied themselves as he slipped the small wedding band between them. “Wha’ she stressed the mos’,” he continued after a spell. “Was tha’ no matter ‘ow frail life is or ‘ow much I wish t’ preserve tha’ life tha’… well… the ‘appiness o’ those I love is the mos’ important yet.”

            Sebastian felt his heart leap to his throat, unsure how much he was reading into the response. “So do you mean to say you’ve given up your… hobby?”

            “The Bizarre Dolls?” the mortician returned with some difficulty. “I only ever meant…” he cut himself off at the demon’s saddened reaction, growing frustrated with himself. “No, it doesn’ matter wha’ I meant,” he corrected. “I’m… done wi’ it. I won’t do it anymore.”

            “And… everything that goes along with it?” Sebastian asked slowly. He could see how difficult it was for the undertaker to close the book on his mission, as warped as it had become. To think, a reaper killing in an attempt to spare lives.

            “All o’ it,” the other confirmed. “I’ve done enough ‘arm already, isn’t tha’ so?” he asked a bit sadly. “T’ those I love mos’ o’ all.”

            “Well, it remains to be seen if Ciel will accept your apology,” the butler returned neutrally. He wouldn’t read himself into those words, wouldn’t put himself in a place of vulnerability yet again. He could feel Eugene’s curious eyes upon him but pressed on, determined not to cave in and meet that melted gaze. “You’ll have to make a compelling case for yourself, you know,” he stated. “Your word has hardly been enough to go off of in the past, so your actions will have to be impeccable to regain his trust.”

            “An’ wha’ about _your_ trust?”

            Sebastian stilled, staring pointedly at his hands, now fixated in running the pads across the bristly tips of the brush. “My trust?” he echoed. Would it be weak for him to try and take Eugene back? Would it be foolish? Would it only hurt him further? He shot a glance to the still-sleeping form of Ciel beside him. _‘If I do the selfish thing, will it only push you away again? We’ve come so close now and the last thing I want to do is sabotage that.’_

            Still, he remembered what he had told the earl some hours earlier, explaining how love was not an extinguishable resource and that the allocation to different persons didn’t lessen or cheapen the love he had to give for another. _‘But is it too early to push that concept with him?’_ he wondered distractedly. _‘I must not forget that polyamory is not a part of his culture: I can’t just expect him to embrace it immediately without feeling some human dredges of jealousy or self-consciousness. He must understand now that he comes first, especially with me. No matter how much I lo…’_

            With a sigh he shut off his thoughts, shaking his head as if to clear it. “A lot has changed since you were here just a week ago, Eugene,” he began evenly, beginning to recount the events of the last several days. Glossing over the severity of the harpy attack, he detailed the decisions and choices that had been left up to himself and his master. Eugene smiled appropriately and offered his congratulations on the resolution of the matter, but an awkward uncertainty hung between them yet.

            “Seb – Malphas,” the reaper corrected himself. “I ‘ave fucked up spectacularly, both wi’ you an’ wi’ Ciel. I don’t… well… I can’t expect forgiveness,” he continued, flushing slightly. “But I ‘ave t’ know where this leaves us. You’ve every righ’ t’ hate me and I certainly deserved tha’ punch earlier,” he added, massaging lightly at his jaw.

            “Served you right.”

            “It did.”

            “You fell asleep immediately.”

            “I ‘and’t slept in… in… a while…”

            “A week, I’m taking it?”

            “About.”

            “You never know how to care for yourself without…” the demon broke off, swallowing the rest of his words. _‘Without me around,’_ he finished inwardly.

            “I really don’t,” Eugene answered knowingly. He clicked his long lacquered nails together melodically, trying to arrange his next words. “I know I’m supposed t’ stop tryin’ t’ determine wha’ I do an’ don’t deserve,” he prefaced. “So wha’ I do know is tha’ you deserve t’ be ‘appy, and I won’t intervene any longer in tha’. If… if I make you ‘appy then I will gladly return t’ your side. An’ if I don’t, then… then tha’s okay, too. I fucked things up an’ I don’t want t’ steal you away from Ciel an’ your li’le one.

            “I will do wha’ I must t’ keep you all ‘appy from ‘ere on out. Even if tha’ means stayin’ away from you all,” he admitted with a sad smile. “But I’m done wi’ those dolls an’ I’m done with killin’ – I’m jus’ done wi’ ‘urtin’ others an’ torturin’ myself. I’m no’ goin’ t’ ask your forgiveness because you don’t need t’ give it,” he continued earnestly. “But Sebastian – Malphas – my beautiful creature,” he whispered, throat cracking just a little. “I love you so dearly an’ I’m tired o’ bein’ at odds wi’ you. My feelin’s for you ‘ave never changed. ‘Ave… ‘ave yours?”

            “No,” Sebastian exhaled guiltily. “After all of the bullshit you put me through – put both of us through – I… I always held out the hope that your feelings were… genuine.”

            “They are!” the reaper returned, wide eyed and honest. “They always ‘ave been.”

            “Thank you,” the darker haired man sighed. “It… I feel much better knowing it wasn’t all in my head. I really do… I shouldn’t…” he massaged at the bridge of his nose. “The truth is that I love you, Eugene, and it seems nothing you do or say can erase that truth. You have enraptured me in the very nature of your being and despite myself and everything I’ve known or held to be true I can’t help but care for you and wish only the best for you: I can’t help but intertwine my own being with yours and find us entirely inseparable.

            “You have ensnared my very soul and I have no desire left to be parted from you. I don’t know what the future brings, and I know that the choices I have made have led me in a direction I never could have fathomed. But I would have you there at my side despite all of that. I wish to always have your love and your guidance as a beacon in my life, your shoulder to turn to when I no longer know what to do. I need you by me, dare I say as much as you need me, and I know now that nothing on this earth could ever sever that need from my heart.”

            The demon started as a gentle hand cupped his cheek, thumbing beneath his eyes. Eugene smiled at him tenderly, wiping away the tears he hadn’t even known were flowing. “Beautiful creature, if I could express myself as fluidly as you, then I would ‘ave a ‘undred lovers: why you should settle on me I will never understand,” he whispered fondly, leaning forward so their lips ghosted against one another. “But know whatever ‘appens in this rotten world tha’ I will choose you again an’ again – in all o’ this earth there’s no one as precious t’ me as you.”

            As their lips met, Sebastian’s eyes fluttered closed and in that moment everything felt blissfully right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Chess wrote the "dealt with it" scene, I was absolutely in stitches, oh lord that entire interaction is fucking golden <3
> 
> Oh man, the part with Sebastian in his true form was my favorite part of this whole fanfiction to write <3 It was supposed to go fairly differently based on our notes, but this just happened. I'd like to think its the twin of the lupine and karner blue scene in the original draft of the story, Broken Pieces -- both scenes were created on the spot to an extent and ended up being integral moments for Sebastian and Ciel's relationship. 
> 
> Speaking of Broken Pieces and Together Again, you may have noticed that those have disappeared from the internet. Both Chess and I wanted to treat this like the penultimate version of the story, those two versions acting more like drafts or proto-versions of SooP. Also, I realized that eighteen-year-old me wrote a lot of problematic things in Broken Pieces, which I'm really not comfortable having on the internet anymore.
> 
> ...I'm also kind of embarrassed about the fact that in BP the Funtom factory burned down and it was never addressed or talked about again.
> 
> Four more chapters to go until hiatus! 
> 
> Nov 17: Chapter 18  
> Dec 1: Chapter 19  
> Dec 15: Chapter 20  
> Dec 29: Chapter 21 -- which actually falls on the one-year anniversary we decided to write the bulk of Soop!
> 
> I may or may not be having elective surgery in a few weeks depending on my insurance, so chapter 19 might be posted at a screwy time since I am likely going to be on a lot of painkillers and may forget. 
> 
> -Moosey


	18. Helleborus

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Helleborus**

_“No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another.”_

– Charles Dickens

            Cosette sunk with a huff against the doorframe, easing upon a shoulder and brushing back limp strands of hair disinterestedly. It fell in weighty curls across her back, frizzy locks still creeping forward in a wreath about her round face. The night had been drizzly, just another glum English night that she hated. The rain always made her hair loose its sheen. ‘ _I look like a fucking peasant in her mistress’ borrowed clothing_ ,’ she scowled, halfheartedly fluffing the front of her skirts. They rumpled in retort.

            She yearned to go back to her beloved Paris and its predictable weather. Escape the cold shouldered winds of the British countryside and the sudden downpours, the suspicious looks and smirks. Where was the pomp, the glamour? All of the splendor of her apartment and its trappings, the fleur de lis in all its glorious patterns embroidered on every article in shining golden thread? The warmth of her people and their secretive smiles? The honey-thick lilt of their voices wrapping about the English language, gliding over their mother tongue?

            She was sick of British indifference and miserable weather and stupid, outdated wallpapers and of hiding. Oh how she loathed the hiding. She was a creature meant for seducing, for being shown off and preying upon the wealthy and gorgeous at fabulous parties. It was no wonder she was wilting under the conditions.

            Disgruntled, she glowered at the opposing wall – sure enough the paper was peeling from its high border, equally disheartened by the cold – waiting to be noticed. At the far end of the dressing room Maeve sat before her vanity, perfectly pressed golden tresses and ruby red lips reflecting back at her from the three angled mirrors.

            Jealousy snared the succubae’s heart: perfect little Maeve, always so graceful and stunningly powerful. The dominant poise she held, the killer’s calm, and yet the seducer’s husky notes and bedroom eyes. It just wasn’t fair. Nothing touched the woman: not the dismal weather, nor the interrupted plans, and certainly not the blasted waiting. Nothing, nothing ever marred her features – even in her blinding rage she maintained her beauty. It was unsettling.

            She was an ageless Venus, forever crowned in gold and adoration with cheeks flushed the perfect shade of pink. Cosette’s eyes narrowed, lips licked clean of pigment pursing. Just once, she wanted to see that perfection crack. She thought of the demure woman sitting in a gilded frame at home, a gorgeous reproduction of a Rossetti.

            Spite drove her to desire. She wanted to sink a knife into the canvas of that flawless face and tear it asunder. The harpy trilled a low coo behind her as it sunk its beak into the mangled carcass of a rabbit as if in quiet agreement. She huffed a humorless laugh at it and it quieted, ducking its bloodied beak into its dinner.

            Cossette had flown into a passion when the creature had returned to her, broken and bloody. She’s screamed and cursed and raked her claws down the wallpaper before falling to the creature’s side and coddling it to her breast. More than a few souls had taken part in its speedy recovery, and the bodies she’d left carelessly flayed in her wake had been spectacularly shredded to bits.

            At length Maeve turned from the mirrors, brush in hand. She inclined her cheek slightly towards the door, shoulder dipping vaguely: all the recognition she would expend. The hem of her robe slipped down her pale skin, a brilliant emerald silk embroidered with narcissus and rhododendron. Cosette didn’t have to draw near to know it matched the shade of the other woman’s eyes perfectly.

            “Why do you even care so much, Maeve?” she sighed aloud, breaking the insufferable silence. “He’s not –.” She caught herself, wrinkling her nose distastefully. “They’re not worth it.”

            The blonde shifted at her velveteen bench, smoky lashes downcast as she toyed with her perfume bottles, letting her claws clink between the glass forms and drag across the wood of her vanity. The black lace of her slip clung to her breasts, a golden locket on a thin chain pressed between them. A token of love given by a handsome aristocrat. But Cosette knew better – she had seen its former owner crumple to the floor as Maeve twisted her neck with sickening finality, a placid smile on her painted lips as she slipped the trinket free. It was like living with a slumbering snake: terrifying, perhaps even repulsive, yet beautiful and alluring, constantly reeling her back into the coils of her words.

            “Why do _you_ care?” the woman countered with an air of disinterest. Cosette stiffened, wrapping her arms about herself defensively as a gaudy blush darkened her cheeks. No words of self-preservation would come, already slowed by the poisonous cruelty of her benefactress. “It couldn’t be because you’ve never been refused before, Cosette?” steady green eyes flickered up in the depths of the mirror, meeting stormy grey, coy painted lips driving home each syllable.

            Cosette recoiled, floundering in the sea of memories that rushed forwards. Malphas’ cold smile, the press of his claws bruising her skin, a man with piercing violet eyes laughing merrily and turning that warmth towards another woman, the ageless faces of doll after doll after doll lined in precise little cases about her home, all staring blankly and unsympathetically ahead, cold. Her hands balled into fists around her dress.

            “Poor baby,” Maeve cooed, pointedly watching every flash of reaction. “Are you losing your touch?”

            “I AM NOT!” Cosette shrieked, throwing her arms violently to her sides, eyes burning as they tinged scarlet. The harpy echoed her pitch, craning its head back with hideous cracks, tossing it this way and that to assess its mistress with one milky eye. The succubus snarled, aware how mad she must appear with her petulant pout and wild hair. The avian cawed uncertainly, letting the carcass plummet to the carpet with a heavy thump as it ruffled its wings into a new vantage. “I refuse to accept that, Maeve,” the brunette continued, quieter.

            She curled her fingers deep into her fists, balling up her claws as they bit into the flesh of her palms, warm blood gurgling over the nail beds in satisfactory streams. It was sobering, and she pushed her claws in deeper, squeezing the excess to drip in fat drops on the stupid pristine white carpet. It was hard not to giggle at that. Something flawed that no one could deny. But oh if she could just fix that damning woman…

            “I’ve just…” she sighed, pausing dramatically and turning towards her baby, looping an arm about its thick neck and nuzzling into its plumage. Raw and decaying flesh notwithstanding, her beloved child was cleaned, feathers oily in all the natural ways, blood only clotting its primaries which dragged across the floor in crimson sweeps whenever it shuffled its massive body. Cosette could feel the sneer of disgust from her partner, and pressed her emotions against the great avian, willing her audience to feel the genuineness of her performance. She imagined the way the wretched demon had pushed her away as if she were some common jezebel and not a voluptuous and powerful succubus. A disgrace. “I’ve never been treated quite that way before, Maeve,” she said tremulously. “No one has ever –.”

            The gentle creak of wood indicated Maeve’s approach, quickly followed by a sigh of resignation. With as close to tenderness as the succubus had encountered from the other woman, Cosette keened in to the arms that embraced her, nuzzling down on her friend’s breast and sighing at the gentle strokes of elegant fingers combing through her bedraggled hair. Was it friendship? Cosette wasn’t truly certain. Maeve was, at least, the longest lasting of her companions and the one least likely to be killed by her trademark fits of overenthusiastic joy.

            Yet something dark lingered at the dark of her mind, a snide thing that had taken root and refused to be forced out. ‘ _Just look at her, feel how supple her breasts are. See how her hair cascades over her shoulders? Her fingers smooth your hair, they never tangle it, they’re never awkward or clumsy. Always always always graceful and eloquent and alluring. Perfect little princess Maeve._

 _‘And she’s younger than you, you old cow. Look how the men turn their eyes to her, how they make their wives angry and suspicious. They undress her and fuck her right on the spot, all with their minds. When’s the last time a man treated you that way? Maybe you are slipping, Cosette. Maybe you are some old maid, some scraps no one wants. Such a pathetic fate for a succubus. After all, without your beauty, are you really anything at all?_ ’

            A quick kiss to the temple and the tears that threatened to bubble over Cosette’s features vanished. It wasn’t a charade anymore; genuine fear had crawled its way inside of her, drugged her with venomous words. “There now,” Maeve said evenly, actions quickly losing their notes of affection. The younger succubus whimpered and pressed closer into the cold open arms. What would it matter if the woman was the death of her, what with her radical plans and precise dates? What would any of it matter, the jealousy and annoyance, when it was the only place she could seek some semblance of shelter and comfort from the slow unwinding of her insecure and anxious mind?

            “He’s obviously deranged, Cosette –,” the succubus crooned, and the brunette nodded softly to the words, eating them up because she wanted to. “Seeing a human male through with such a disgusting task.”

            Cosette sniffled against the younger’s breast, feeling the press of the locket against her cheek and knowing the golden heart was just as cold as the one pounding in the woman’s chest. Red rimmed and tearstained, she raised her eyes to meet unfeeling emerald. “R-really?”

            “Really,” the succubus smiled, straightening the brunette in an almost motherly sort of fashion. “And deranged to turn down a pretty thing such as you.”

            Cosette stuffed down all the feelings welling up inside of her and forced out a dazzling grin, flushing with roused excitement. It didn’t matter if the words were hollow so long as they were said. She could believe there was sincerity there, if she tried hard enough. She could make herself believe it. Ecstatically she threw herself at the blonde, pressing her to a tight hug.

            “Thank you so much Maeve! La, I feel like I’ve gotten my second wind!” Childishly she dabbed at her eyes, scuffing away the beads of tears with the heels of her palms. No, laughter was too much for now. The anger surged forward, coupled with indignation. They had made her feel like this, forced her back to this place she hated so much, hated more than all of drizzly Britain and all of its wretched, bitter inhabitants. They wouldn’t be let off so easily; she wouldn’t be so brazenly shamed without harsh retribution.

            She balled her fists together beneath her breasts, almost in the mockery of prayer, looking for all the world like a doe eyed young girl who had caught sight of a fancy pair of slippers she desperately wanted. Save, of course, for the wicked smirk that twisted her lips, the cheerful demeanor not gone but tainted with dark amusement. “So! Who gets to kill it?”

            “Darling,” Maeve laughed. “You always know how to bounce right back!”

            The brunette grinned broadly back, flipping away locks of hair that slipped over her shoulder. “Indeed I do!” she giggled pleasantly, torn-up palms flapping. “Well?”

            “I think I’ll leave disposing the abomination to you, lovie,” the blonde crooned, fingering the rich fabrics of her wardrobe before selecting a plush white robe and exchanging her silk one for it. “It’s only fair for you to do so,” she continued, luxurious halo of hair spilling out in waves over the collar. Cosette found nothing fair about that. “I think offing that traitor’s kin will twist his unfeeling heart more than I ever could.”

            Cosette watched quietly as the serpent awakened, something warm and malicious flickering behind her cold and gemlike eyes. Wordlessly she submitted to the creature before her as it examined its precisely shaped claws, a wistful smile quirking over its lips. “Not that I wouldn’t try,” it crooned. Cosette shivered.

**Xxxxxxxxxx**

            When Ciel awoke the hazy light of midday had crept its way into the single bedroom of the lodge, prodding him to wakefulness despite his desire to sleep further. Disoriented, he propped himself up on the bed, not entirely certain how he had gotten there in the first place. At some point, he rationed, Sebastian must have tucked him in, probably realizing that sleeping on the couch was no good for his… situation.

            Huffing to himself, he made to rise, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress with more difficulty than he’d willingly admit to. He had grown accustomed to rising later in the day but it was seldom that he woke completely alone, either. He could make out the muffled sounds of his companions through the wall and the wafting scent of something baked entreated him further.

            Mind still comfortably blank, he set about procuring his clothes, making to change back into what he’d been wearing the night prior. Sebastian, he figured, could just deal with the laziness of the action. After a brief but poignant struggle with his trousers, he abandoned them in favor of a more lax-fitting pair and finally exited to the rest of the crowded little lodge.

            Iris was sitting on the couch in the parlor alongside Paula, stammering her way through a conversation. Sebastian and Agni were sitting nearby in the armchairs, involved in a talk of their own.  But despite the servants’ preoccupation, the lodge was still overflowing with the sweet scent of tea and baked goods. Brows furrowed, Ciel stepped into kitchen, genuinely surprised (and mildly concerned) that any of his friends would try their hand at cooking.

            Instead, he was met with the sight of Lizzy, Souma, and Sieglinde sitting at the table, contently munching on a plate of bone-shaped shortbread cookies. Nicky circled at their feet, nose raised to scent the air and all but prancing in a much constrained effort to keep from outright begging. Beyond them, Eugene was withdrawing another tray of the biscuits from the oven, his hair piled sensibly on top of his head as he worked.

            “Oh!” Lizzy said sweetly, dropping her hands to her lap. “Good morning, Ciel!”

            Eugene glanced over his shoulder, removing a kettle from the stovetop and pouring a steeping cup of whatever was boiling within. “Mornin’!” he said enthusiastically, “I do ‘ope you like orange blossom tea!”

            Scowling, Ciel stalked across the kitchen and grabbed the reaper by the sleeve of his cassock, wordlessly dragging him through the small cooking space and into the parlor. The undertaker followed wordlessly, carrying the freshly-poured tea with him in his spare hand.

            “Who authorized this?” he asked, pointing to Eugene as if he were a new Funtom product that had appeared without the earl’s approval. The reaper apparently thought that this phrasing was the most amusing thing in the world and burst into laughter. Ciel shot him a glare before redirecting it onto Sebastian, eyes narrowing in an accusatory fashion.

            “Ah, well –.” Sebastian began, looking more sheepish than Ciel had ever seen him.

            “That must’ve been one hell of a talk you had with him,” the earl interjected. “Seeing as I wasn’t present or conscious for it as I had requested to be! I thought we were going to see what he wanted and turn him back out?”

            “He did,” Sieglinde called from the kitchen. “I was the one that let him back in.” Ciel turned to stare at her and she shrugged nonchalantly. “He wanted to get some water to prime the pump outside and once he was in, he started going through his tea and offered to make breakfast.”

            “You’re eating _sweets_ , not breakfast!” Ciel countered, watching as Eugene plodded back into the kitchen and sat down between Lizzy and Souma. “And besides it’s nearly midday! You’re having tea at best!”

Eugene suppressed a laugh – no doubt at the earl’s own expense – and propped up his cheek on his palm, apparently content to watch the amusing scenario play out. He’d probably decided try and get back into the house just for that very reason, the bastard.

            Lizzy looked around, a bit confused. “I – was there a reason we weren’t supposed to let him in? I mean, Sebastian seemed cross with him, but we haven’t seen Uncle Eugene in quite a while.”

            Apparently no one had chosen to fill her in on why Sebastian had punched him out. Ciel keenly wished he’d had the foresight to tell Elizabeth that Eugene was the one behind the Campania disaster, and that his disappearance had been caused by his fleeing from the law. The earl buried his face in his palms and let out a groan.

            “Alright, _fine_ ,” he assented, returning to the parlor and glaring at Sebastian. “I suppose it would be in my best interest to let him stay. So long as you two have things… _sorted out…_ and he won’t be making any other assassination attempts on me —.”

            “ _What_?!” Lizzy cried, the sound of disturbed tableware clinking throughout the lodge.

            “Oh dear, my lady!” Paula stood and rushed off to the kitchen as Eugene began to laugh again. Ciel drew his lips into a taut line and stared at Sebastian incredulously before stalking back into the kitchen where Lizzy had abruptly stood and was glaring down Eugene, a hand on the scabbard of her saber.

            “What did Ciel mean?” she demanded. The reaper picked up a cookie and took a nonchalant bite out of it. Sieglidne was still happily chewing away at her own biscuits, Nicky settled comfortably in her lap as she waved an errant hand in Lizzy’s direction. Paula fluttered at the blonde’s side, desperately attempting to calm her mistress down while Souma remained motionless in his seat, looking a bit out of sorts as he glanced around to each person in the room.

            “Its fine, _meine liebling_ ,” Sieglinde hummed to Elizabeth as she set down her cookie at last. “He isn’t trying anything now, so —.”

            Lizzy bristled, beginning to draw her sword. Her eyes kept dashing from Ciel to Eugene.  “‘Now’? How can we be certain he won’t try anything again?”

            “I wasn’t tryin’ to ‘urt ‘im,” Eugene held up his hands with a shrug, a show of completely false innocence. “Just – _preserve_ ‘im.”

            Ciel quickly inserted himself between the two before Lizzy could fully draw her saber, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace.

            “Don’t you dare try to exacerbate this,” he hissed at Eugene over his shoulder. “You’ve caused enough trouble already.”

            The earl returned his gaze to Elizabeth, wavering a little when he spotted her ferocious expression. “Lizzy —.”

            “ _What_?” she snapped in return, clearly fed up with eight years’ worth of excuses that had been thrown her way. Ciel winced, wanting very much to snap in reply, but after reminding himself that was what he’d been doing to her for almost half of their lives, decided to take a deep breath instead.

            “Eugene isn’t going to hurt me. I promise,” the earl told her. “Lizzy, I’m in good hands here. It’s not that I don’t genuinely appreciate you being here, but —.”

            “But _what_?” she interjected, finally releasing her grip on the saber. “I certainly showed my worth against that – that dreadful _thing_ that tried to attack you. Are you really going to look me in the eye and tell me that you’re under the impression I’m a liability?”

            The earl looked away from his cousin, wishing that he could retort, but he could not bring himself to lie to Lizzy’s face yet again. She’d done too much to help protect him and had suffered through so many of his moods and half-truths that he couldn’t bear the thought of telling her something that she knew to be false. It wasn’t as if he wanted her to leave for being a liability alone: having seen what the harpy had done against Sebastian was enough to terrify him about all the others’ well-being, Lizzy notwithstanding.

            Lizzy fumed at his silence. “What’s the _real_ reason you don’t want me here, Ciel? And don’t tell me it’s because you want me safe!”

            “It _is_!” he insisted, at a complete loss. “I just – Lizzy, I’ve lost so much, I don’t want to lose you, too!”

            “Then what about Sieglinde? Or Souma?” she gestured towards the two others. “I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Sieglinde can protect herself just as well as I can – if not better! But you _know_ that the only reason Souma is here is because he has a better chance at being safe in numbers. It’s not as if he can offer you any sort of protection like the others can.”

            Ciel winced, watching a hurt look flash across Souma’s face. “Lizzy, that’s uncalled for —,” the earl began.

            “You _know_ it’s true!” Lizzy snapped. “I’ve already gone and involved myself in this, too, so you’re just throwing me to the proverbial dogs if you really feel as if bringing everyone else here is for their own protection.  I mean, Souma is a normal human and he’s just as vulnerable as you – maybe even more so. Why drag him into this if you’re making it a point to surround yourself only with people who can properly protect you? Especially when you insist I don’t fit the bill? That’s hypocritical.”

            She pressed an earnest hand to her chest, looking desperate. “I told you I’m fine with calling off the marriage, but _Ciel_ , you’re pushing me away as a friend by doing this. All I’ve ever wanted to do was help protect you and you’re making it _impossible_ for me to do so!”

            Ciel turned away from her, staring hard through one of the kitchen windows. He looked back at Elizabeth’s reflection, seeing her eyes mist up with frustrated tears at his continued silence. He knew she had valid points – especially considering wanting to keep his friends at his side for their own safety. And even though he’d been certain that Elizabeth would’ve been capable of defending herself against the harpy before, its last appearance suggested that she would be no match for it on her own, or even with her mother’s aid.

            “Do you have _anything_ to say for yourself?” she whispered, balling her hands into fists at the sides of her day dress. Ciel opened his mouth, turning to her, but found that he had nothing to say. Elizabeth nodded, nose scrunched uncomfortably as she held back her tears, and took off towards the bedroom without a word.

            Eugene whistled lowly, eyes wide as he ducked into his teacup. Sieglinde, who had been silent until then, stood and grabbed her crutches, calling after Elizabeth softly; Paula followed, but was kindly urged away by the Green Witch.

            Souma was still sitting at the edge of the table, idly playing with one of the bone cookies. Ciel turned to his best friend and set a hand gently on his shoulder.

            “Please don’t take what Lizzy said to heart,” he told the prince. “She’s just very upset right now. I think – I need to go try and set things straight with her,” Ciel apologized quickly, setting off towards the parlor and seeking Sebastian out for council.

            Souma sat numbly at the table for a while after the blowout, digging his fingernails into the grain of the wood. His remaining biscuits sat untouched on their plate, and after a while Eugene collected them and threw them out, passing a sympathetic look the prince’s way. “Try not t’ dwell on it,” he advised. “Words spoken in anger are rarely true.”

            Still, it didn’t assuage Souma’s growing anxieties. He watched as the kitchen cleared, leaving him alone in the warmth of the room. Feeling entirely at a loss, he got up from his seat and bustled about the space, doing what he could to tidy up. He wasn’t experienced in much, but he managed the dishes well enough, toweling them off and returning to their spot on the shelves. He knew that the servants would have tended to it anyway, but he needed something with which to occupy himself. The problem was it only busied his hands and not his mind.

            For a time he thought nothing at all, too shocked to really process what had happened while he stood passively by. Should he have stood up for himself? But what would he say? _‘What defense could I possibly have given?’_ he frowned. _‘What useful skills do I even have?’_

            Souma had no false illusions about his own capabilities. Sure, he was college educated and passionate about social issues. He strove to partner with Ciel and take on one of the Funtom factories. He hailed from a foreign country and had insight to the deleterious reality of imperialism. He was still a prince – no matter how far removed he came from his original home – and that title was still recognized within the societies of England. But he was lacking in a lot of other ways.

            He didn’t know how to fight, for one. Even Ciel knew how to use a gun and kept a small one with him at near all times. Souma had been surprised to find it under the earl’s pillow when they’d first awoken a few mornings back. It saddened him to think that his friend was so fearful that he needed the weapon nearby, even when he slept. But what could he do? He certainly couldn’t help out in that department, unlike Sieglinde or Lizzy.

 _'Or anyone else, really,’_ he realized bitterly.

            He had asked a few times for Agni to teach him some practical defensive tactics. He knew if he framed the request any other way his butler would refuse instantaneously – he had left his days of extreme violence and hedonism behind him and Souma wouldn’t do anything to trigger his own simmering self-loathing.

            But even that supplication had been turned down; the other man detecting immediately what was really being asked after. He assured Souma that he would protect him no matter what and that he needn’t worry for his own wellbeing.

            Souma chewed at his lip in frustration. _‘I never even got to work my way up to weapons,’_ he lamented. Knowing that such tools would never be allowed in Agni’s company – whether he outwardly expressed the notion or not – Souma had given up the pursuit, feeling more frustrated than comforted. It was tiring always relying on others, after all.

            He thought back to the time he actively lived as a prince, when his life was more presently in danger than ever. He had kept weapons then, even though he had no training in using them. Still, they seemed intuitive enough and he knew he could at least hamper any attacker or assassin that came his way.

            His fingers twitched instinctually to his waist where he used to conceal a bichuwa blade. He never had an opportunity to use it, which he figured he should be grateful for. Still, he missed the small dagger and wished in vain that he had it on him now that his best friend was in danger. _‘It wasn’t much, but still better than absolutely nothing,’_ he hummed.

            He considered the other weapon he’d once had: a cruel bagh naka that his father had gifted him. It once belonged to an assassin who had tried to oppose them, its four claws soaked in poison. He had slid the piece over his knuckles, feeling its weight and supposing it was the more natural feeling of the two. It held a place of honor in the drawer of a table beside his bed, known only to him.

 _‘But I can’t exactly punch a harpy,’_ he reasoned, allowing himself a small laugh. _‘I doubt I could even get to its skin with all of those feathers in the way.’_

            His thoughts were interrupted as he heard the door of the bedroom across the parlor open. Bracing himself, he waited, wondering if Lizzy would try to approach him again. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say to her. He wanted, of course, to remain as amicable as possible – civil at the very least. He only hoped that the young woman was interested in the same.

            But then the sound of another door opening reached him, and, watching anxiously, he peered out the kitchen window to see the blonde in question enter the garden. Not wanting to pry, he moved away from the counter, crossing into the parlor. Ciel and Sebastian were still within, talking in hushed voices on the couch. Agni occupied one armchair with Paula in the other, fitfully mending the dress the harpy had shredded. Sieglinde sat on the floor, sorting through little sachets of stones and herbs, Nicky curled into a halo of white fluff by her side. The witch’s creased brow and pursed lips suggested that she had been unsuccessful in calming Lizzy.

            Uncomfortable, Souma slipped into the room, edging around the perimeter to pause beside the bank of windows. Pretending to entertain himself with the trinkets on the benches before him, he knew that his presence wouldn’t go unnoticed by those around him. The group had been left in an awkward and tense state, none of them really wanting to make eye contact with one another.

            Souma fidgeted where he stood, worrying a scrap of lace between his fingers and noting that bits of fabric still clung to it: a velvety blue that bespoke of a fine gown. He wondered distantly if it had anything to do with Ciel’s mother. Sadly, he thought of his own. Certainly she would have known what to do or say in his current situation. He could only imagine that his father’s response would be one of disappointment: probably prescribing something like a thicker skin for him and retribution for Lizzy.

            Anxiety blossomed in his breast, shaking into his hands and making him fumble the piece of aged lace. He allowed himself an unnoticeable whimper, curling into himself as best as possible without drawing attention. The blonde’s words still echoed in his skull, accusations of his worthlessness piercing through him like daggers. He could hardly deem her wrong. No matter how much it hurt to hear, it seemed that Lizzy knew the score.

            He shot a wary glance to Ciel, wondering what his friend was thinking. Could he be evaluating the swordswoman’s claims? He had every right to, what with his and his daughter’s lives at stake. What could he do to protect them should another attack come?

 _‘_ When _another attack comes,’_ he corrected himself wearily.

            Lizzy had more than proved herself already, having dealt with the harpy fearlessly. For a human, she had held her own and came out nearly unscathed. She was amazing, and Ciel was lucky to have her as a friend.

            Paula, at least, equaled him in terms of contributing to the group. She came as a packaged deal with Lizzy, and so while she wasn’t of much use, she seemed to have a place among them all the same.

            Sieglinde fared far better. Both she and Iris were highly skilled witches as they’d obviously proved time and again in their short stint at the lodge. Iris knew plants like the back of her hand and could heal almost any malady. Sieglinde, of course, was wickedly clever, and Souma doubted there was anything that she couldn’t puzzle out. Despite Ciel’s previous reservations to include the pair, their presence in the group had more than paid off.

            Souma was much less keen on Eugene’s coming within their midst. It didn’t exactly engender confidence in the prince that the strange man had just attacked them days prior. No, not just attacked, but came with the premeditated intention of double homicide. The thought alone made him shiver.

            He wasn’t sure what had transpired between the earl, the butler, and the reaper that had allowed Eugene into their company. It had to be for a very good reason, but despite his desire to trust his friends, Souma had to wonder if it was the safest plan. He did his best to accommodate and act politely towards the mortician – he did make excellent sweets, after all. Still, he hated knowing that such a treacherously dangerous person was more helpful to have around than him.

            With a remorseful sigh, he realized his appetite had returned. He wasn’t entirely certain how long he’d sat around in the kitchen, but the tantalizing notion of still-fresh biscuits and a pot of tea seemed to agree with him in the moment.

            Looking to the other room, his gaze unintentionally caught Agni’s own. One look at the troubled prince and the man instantly knew that a heart-to-heart was in order. Nodding subtly to the front door, he got up from his seat and made to enter the kitchen. The intention was clear enough: they’d exit the lodge in stages so as not to draw obvious attention and concern.

            Souma relaxed in appreciation, crossing the space as leisurely as he could manage. He tried his best not the catch the attentions of his friends, but inevitably did so anyway. Ciel looked up the second the prince began to move, eyeing him critically as if trying to assess his mental state. “Hey…” he cautiously hedged. “Are you –?”

            “I’m fine,” Souma answered a bit too quickly, sending the earl a tight-lipped smile. Not waiting for a follow-up, he slipped from the lodge, sagging against the door as soon as it swung closed. The air outside was electric and crisp, the promise of a storm emphasized by the greying clouds up ahead. For once Souma found it refreshing rather than depressing. He hadn’t realized how stagnant the parlor had felt or how heavy the presence of the other’s had been. He knew it was silly, but he couldn’t help but feel that they were all thinking of him, trying not to be obvious as they shot him glances.

 _‘I’m overthinking things,’_ he reprimanded himself. _‘But I can’t hardly help it when I feel so lousy. If I feel this poorly about what was said, then how must everyone else perceive me?’_ Even without knowing the other’s thoughts, he felt like shit. _‘Maybe I should just go home,’_ he considered sadly.

            So long as they were weeding out the burdens, he could escort Paula back to Middleford Manor. It was out of the way of the London Estate – being several miles to the south – but he was willing to take the journey if it meant the woman’s security both in transit and in removing her from the tenuous situation. After all it would be scandalous and dangerous to leave her to her own devices to get home.

 _‘Iris would probably be sad to see her leave,’_ he reckoned. _‘Even if she can’t help out, at least she would be missed.’_

            The question that followed was only natural.

 _‘Would_ I _be missed? I know I’ve always asserted that Ciel is my best friend, but I’ve never really known how he feels about me. Perhaps I’m just obnoxious and burdensome to him all the time.’_ No matter how much he cared or how passionate he felt about sticking by the earl, he wouldn’t overstay his welcome or force himself upon others. It was too much like his younger self.

            Souma bit his lip, determined not to cry. More than anything he feared reiterating the past and falling back into his old ways. He could still remember clearly when Sebastian admonished him at the age of seventeen, calling him out on his childishness and selfishness. He didn’t want to place blame on the demon, but the event had scarred him, leaving a permanent fear of personal failure.

            He cuffed at his eyes in frustration. He didn’t want to break down over the things he couldn’t change. Crying wouldn’t change anything, anyway.

            Pushing away from the door, he meandered along the front walk, waiting for Agni. The butler followed him not long after, fiddling with his bandaged hand, brows cinched in concern.

            “Let’s find somewhere private,” he intoned.

            Souma knew what that meant. He nodded, just as desperate for so much as a hug from the other man. He hated that they had to keep their relationship private. On one level, it was because they were butler and master. The crossing over of personal and professional lives was taboo in of itself. The next issue came from the prudish nature of British society. He would never have had to check himself so much in his previous home, and it was one of the many comforts he missed about his mother country. The final reason for secrecy, of course, was that they were both men. While such relations weren’t deemed illegal in England, they were deemed “impolite”. Same-sex partnerships were perfectly acceptable so long as they were subtle and easily ignored.

            Obediently, he followed Agni, heading west of the lodge to where the foliage grew thicker. Beyond a crop of purpling and weedy wildflowers lay a stable with a slanting roof. Its sides were weathered, once blue paint nearly invisible, faded by time.

            Souma had yet to explore the stable, having preferred to stay inside due to the worsening coldness of the October nights. It had rained several times since their arrival, soaking the ground and the house, making everything muddy and musty. Normally the freshness of petrichor was a pleasant scent to the prince, but in his present mood it just seemed to worsen things.

            He made it to the shelter of the stable right as it began to drizzle. “Guess even the sky is in a bad mood,” he joked, nodding slightly upwards.

            Agni just shook his head, approaching one of the Friesian horses that had pulled their carriage. It snorted softly, nodding its shaggy head in their direction. The butler hushed it, gently reaching out and stroking its broad muzzle. “Come pet her,” he motioned gently.

            Souma approached slowly, not wanting to spook the animal and feeling a bit apprehensive himself. He wasn’t sure why, but horses had always made him feel a bit skittish. He figured it had something to do with the fatal power of their hooves.

            “I don’t know,” he spoke lowly, drawing up to the stable door. A plaque on the front of the gate read, “Consumé”: the name of the unfortunate horse that must have belonged to Vincent Phantomhive.

 _‘What a horrid name,’_ Souma thought derisively. _‘Might as well name them ‘Turtle Soup’. Who the hell was responsible for this?’_

            He looked between Agni and the black and white horse skeptically. Cautiously, he extended his hand, feeling himself shaking. Even if her hooves couldn’t reach him, her teeth could, and he didn’t particularly feel like losing any fingers.

            “I’m going to get mauled,” he ushered nervously.

            “You’ll be alright,” Agni assured. “She’s very easy-tempered.”

            “What’s her name?” the prince asked, exhaling slightly as he made contact with the side of the mare’s face. She snuffed and Souma recoiled at once.

            “I named her Lassi,” his butler smiled.

            “Lassi?” the other repeated with some incredulity. “Like the yogurt?”

            “I thought it suited her sweet personality.”

 _‘Oh jeez,’_ Souma thought with a small smile. _‘I guess you’re also the idiot who names animals after foods. Why do I even love you?’_

            “So why did you choose here?” he asked instead, looking around the sparse structure.

            “I always have found horses comforting,” Agni admitted. “I know they’re not your favorite, though,” he added apologetically. “But they’re such intelligent creatures – you can see it in their eyes. I think they’re fairly empathetic as well: I’ve noticed they’re always the most patient with me when I’m upset.”

            “Silly,” Souma huffed playfully. “You know you can always talk it out with me. Unlike a horse, I can actually respond. Also, you know, I won’t clobber you.”

            The butler laughed frankly, relaxing before his partner noticeably. After spending so much time in formal company, the change was a bit startling. Agni leaned against the frame of the corral, allowing the rigid posture to ease from his body. “I know,” he confirmed, smile playing at his lips. “But I was referencing to before we… became close.”

            “You can say ‘courting’.”

            “I realize,” Agni nodded, almost mischievously. “But it’s not as if marriage can ever be on the table, so the term becomes a bit dubious.”

            Souma blushed at the words instantly, chest feeling fluttery. They hadn’t been romantically involved for very long, but they had always been close. Souma liked to see them as friends, having been completely transparent with one another since they met. He still remembered how Agni had slowly opened up to him, his expressions changing from those of haughty indifference to those of reverent docility.

            Memories of how the man used to be flooded his mind. How he had looked when they first came across each other, the ex-Brahmin prepared for his execution, a bitter fire burning in his eyes. Then when he’d first come home with the prince, how quick he had been to revert to his usual behaviors despite his proclamations of change. It had been slow going, but eventually Agni had evened out.

            Souma recalled with fondness the day Agni had knelt before him, back to chest, and allowed him to cut his hair: a symbol of his changed ways and new life. Piece by piece the handsome long strands had fallen around their feet. Souma hadn’t really known how to cut hair, and so the final result was a bit choppy. All the same, Agni had thanked him with sincerity, and they grew close from that moment on.

            That day had truly been the beginning of everything, at least for Souma. Their relationship had blossomed into a peaceable and respectful one, and with it came the adoring looks in the blue eyes he loved so much and the purposefully gentle touches that made him want to embrace the other man. Without a doubt he had fallen for Agni then.

            Taking advantage of their privacy, the younger buried himself in the butler’s chest, arms wrapping loosely around the other’s waist. Agni hummed and returned the gesture, pressing a kiss to the top of the prince’s head. He loved the gentle scent of the henna that gave Souma’s hair its trademark aubergine tint.

            “What’s on your mind, piya?” he asked softly.

            “I’m sure you already know.”

            “About Miss Lizzy? She was surprisingly… harsh,” Agni settled awkwardly. It was evident he had other words in mind. “I hope you’re not taking what she’s said too seriously.”

            “No,” Souma lied obviously. “Of course not.”

            “She’s off-base,” the white haired man began. “She’s angry and hasn’t been taken as seriously as she deserves. It must feel very invalidating to be told she’s not needed when she so obviously is. The assertion suggests that she’s seen as too fragile, or more important somehow than anyone else. Clearly she doesn’t need protection. And yet,” he sighed with frustration. “She has no right to discredit you. If anyone should understand how such treatment feels, it should be her. That aside, she has no real knowledge of your ability.”

            “Or inability,” Souma countered glumly. “It’s not like she’s wrong, and I think that’s why it hurts so much.”

            “Sou –.”

            “Come on, you know it’s true!” the younger protested. “What skills do I really have? Ones that are helpful? That will protect Ciel?”

            “You don’t need violence to resolve a conflict,” Agni disagreed, seeing where the prince was headed.

            “Then what am I supposed to do?” Souma cried, stepping out of their embrace. “Be his body guard? Serve as a living shield?”

            “Of course not!” the other exclaimed in alarm. “Souma – _piya_ – please never think of throwing your life away. Perhaps it’s just selfish of me, but think of who your actions could affect.”

            “You can’t honestly say that,” the prince frowned. “Not when everyone else is so do or die. I’m not looking for death; I just want to do my part. What kind of friend – what kind of person – would it make me if I was to sit this one out? Yet Lizzy is completely right about me and I don’t know what I can do that is of actual use!

            “I don’t think you have the ability to understand this one, meri sanam. You have your Right Hand of God and strength beside. I know you used to fight, no matter how ashamed of it you are now: you still at least have practical experience. I have no doubts that you could hold your own, even against that disgusting bird. You’ve nearly bested Sebastian before, so it’s only reasonable to think that you might even be able to defeat the creature.

            “Whereas I… I rely solely on others, all the time. I’m sick of it, Agni. I want to be able to be equal to the others, to be taken seriously. I thought that maybe after I entered college that that feeling would change, but it barely did. There are so many ways in which I feel I need to catch up. I guess it’s only natural, being a foreigner and all.

            “But no matter how good my English has become, or how much I understand the social and economic climate, I still can’t seem to do anything practical. I can’t protect anyone when it comes down to it. I can’t even defend myself. It’s just embarrassing. I want to be seen as self-proficient, as someone who can be relied on. But how am I ever supposed to garner that if I am like this? It’s just not enough.”

            Agni sighed, noting the quiet tears that slipped down his partner’s cheeks despite the prince’s desperate attempts to stave them off. Wordlessly, he returned Souma to his arms, stroking his hair comfortingly.

            “I’m sorry that these things plague you, piya,” he acknowledged softly. “But I don’t see you that way at all. You have accomplished so much more than I could ever hope to. And that’s alright. I want you to shine: you’ve so much to give to this world and I believe that you can achieve it. Even if you can’t see it, even now you are not worthless or useless.

            “There are other ways in which you can use your skills. Even if you have no physical experience of fighting, you were still a prince. You know how to navigate tense social situations and how to predict how tricky people think. You were exposed to military tactics and different approaches to dealing with conflict. You offer a perspective that is unique to you, that is separate from the methods and thought processes of our Western friends.

            “And please do not be so quick to discredit your college education. Certainly your main curriculum isn’t applicable here, but the skills you’ve learned to obtain your degree are. Critical thinking? Argumentation? Not to speak poorly of others, but these are not advantages that Ciel has: you are far more educated than anyone here. Surely that will pay off, even if it comes in ways you do not anticipate.”

            Souma nodded tiredly, squeezing his arms about his butler’s frame. The anxiety had unwound from his chest, leaving him feeling drained but much relieved. Even if no one else agreed, he would always have Agni’s support.

            “Thank you, meri sanam,” he breathed, reaching up on tiptoe to meet the other man’s face.

            Agni stared back at him fondly, cupping the prince’s cheek in a bandaged hand. “Of course,” he said promisingly, closing the space between them and reveling in their shared kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And again, she forgets to post on time. Sorry about that -- I was working overnights for a week and then had a surgery in very quick succession. Anywho, hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Yay for Souma and Agni!


	19. Syringa Vulgaris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi remember that time I said I'd be on painkillers and would most likely post chapter 19 late. Yeah.  
> Good news is surgery went well! Just a few more chapters before hiatus.

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Syringa Vulgaris**

_“Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.”_

– Charlotte Brontë

            Dim light crept through the heavy storm clouds above and diffused over the disused garden, creeping in between the shedding limbs of trees and spilling through in shades of dusty grey. Elizabeth sat on one of the crumbling stone walls that occupied the little backyard, running her fingers through her hair.

            She’d spent the majority of the day alone, having asked for some privacy earlier on. In the wake of her argument with Ciel, she felt just rotten having shouted at him, causing a scene, and undoubtedly upsetting Souma. He was such a sweet boy and Ciel naturally would have wanted to have him at the lodge not only for his safety, but also for the earl’s emotional wellbeing. Lizzy knew that Souma was one of very few people Ciel could open up to, and her poor mood was doubled in the face of attempting to upset the balance of things.

            ‘ _Perhaps_ ,’ she thought with more than a little sadness. ‘ _I_ should _just return home. If I do so quickly enough, perhaps my presence will not have been noticed? And even if it has, who’s to say what those dreadful people could do to my family_?’

            Elizabeth instantly thought to her sweet little nephew, hand flying to her chest as her heartrate immediately picked up. If the avian creature could nearly slaughter Sebastian, there was no telling what it could do to baby Justin. Lizzy bowed her head, anxiously toying with the strand of golden hair she’d pulled free of her bun. She felt like she was being given an impossible ultimatum – how in the world could she choose between Ciel and the rest of her family? Especially when he was _part_ of her family, and when she’d failed him once before.

            There was a soft noise signaling that the back door had opened. Elizabeth closed her eyes, bracing herself to send Sieglinde away once more. She absolutely loathed doing so, but felt that she really needed to in wake of her situation. Sieglinde was lucky in the way that she only had herself to look out for – not that she was without people she loved and wanted to protect, but in having no familial piety to fulfill she was free in a manner. Free of expectations of marriage, of combat, of upholding silent promises she’d made to those devoted to her by blood.

            “Thank you, but I really need to be —,” Lizzy began, immediately silencing herself when she spotted the person crossing the yard towards her.

            Eugene rested against the wall Lizzy sat on, giving her a warm smile and looking up into the tree branches.

            “This forest is lovely, innit?” he asked, making a sweeping gesture towards the woods fanning out around them.

            “Yes,” she agreed quietly. “It really is.”

            Silence stretched out between them, and they amused themselves with the forms of the small birds who’d yet to migrate for the colder months. Something heavy settled itself over Lizzy’s shoulders and she started, realizing that the man had placed his heavy outer cloak upon her. She thanked him, drawing it around her frame and closing her eyes.

            “You know,” the reaper said at length. “I can’t speak for ‘im, but I think th’ reason why he wants you t’ go ‘ome is because ‘e’s the most scared of losin’ you.”

            “But that doesn’t make any sense!” Lizzy argued, turning towards Eugene. “He said himself that the reason he’s kept Sieglinde and Souma by his side is to protect them – and that creature… I was fibbing earlier, in the kitchen. I really can’t hold my own against that thing. And now, I’m afraid, too.”

            “Afraid o’ what?” Eugene quipped. Lizzy stared down at her feet, letting loose golden tresses fall around her face.

            “I’m afraid of having to make a choice. Ciel or my family? If those succubae who’re after Ciel really try to track my family down, I honestly don’t know what I could do to stop them from harming everyone accept to be there to help them. But at the same time, I made a promise to myself to protect Ciel no matter what. It’s all a game of ‘what-if’ at this point,” she looked up at him, desperate for answers. “And I don’t know if I’ll make the right choice.”

            Eugene hummed, tilting his head back thoughtfully. “Well,” he said after some pause. “It’s good t’ keep promises, but not at the sake of your own ‘appiness or sanity. In the end, tha’ won’t make anyone ‘appy, least of all the person you made a promise to. Sometimes, you just end up making more problems than you started with,” he grinned toothily, gesturing towards the rapidly-fading bruise on his face. “I got tha’ one beat into me quite recently – an’ quite literally, too.”

            “So I should go back to my family?” Lizzy asked, quickly reading into his advice.

            The mortician sighed, easing into his hunched posture. “I’m not sayin’ tha’,” he told her. “I’m jus’ sayin’, you ‘ave to be mindful o’ why you’re doin’ things. Why’re you really here, poppet?”

            “Really here?” Lizzy repeated, staring at the reaper.

            “Like ‘ow you asked Ciel why ‘e really wants you t’ go ‘ome? ‘E said it was because ‘e wanted t’ keep you safe, but tha’s not it, is it?” Eugene pressed his fingertips together thoughtfully, dropping his head so that his silvery bangs obscured his eyes. “Livin’ beings…” he said softly. “Don’t always do things for one reason; we’re too complicated o’ creatures for tha’. You want t’ keep Ciel safe, and tha’s a sincere want o’ yours, but what else d’ you want?”

            Lizzy blushed at having been read so easily, looking at the glint of a single green eye staring at her from behind the hoary veil of Eugene’s hair. “I think,” she said. “I want to be acknowledged for my usefulness – that I’m more than just a knight made to be trained, or a woman made for marrying. I want to _feel_ useful. Moreover, I want – what I _really_ want is to be recognized by Ciel. He’s pushed me away for so many years, and I can tell that right now is when he needs me the most.” She glanced up at the reaper. “Is that selfish?”

            He shrugged, looking contemplative as the first fat drops of the storm began to lightly pelt them, “I’m not really at liberty t’ say, but I think tha’ there’s nothin’ wrong with wantin’ to actualize things for yourself – as long as your heart’s in the right place.”

            “I feel like it is,” Lizzy nodded, more to herself than to him.

            “Then don’t lose sight o’ that,” he said, gently setting a hand on her shoulder. “Now,” he smiled a bit knowingly. “I know of a certain witch ‘oo’s been frettin’ over you all day. Why don’t you pay ‘er a visit and tell ‘er about wha’ you ‘ad to say t’ me?”

            Lizzy nodded, smiling as she took to her feet and handed the cloak back to his reaper. She turned to leave, determined to escape the storm, but took pause and settled a hand over one of his grasping the cloak.

            “Thank you.”

**Xxxxxxxxxx**

            Sebastian, never one to let terrain or wounds impede his epicurean aesthetics, lent himself to the preparation of that night’s dinner with great gusto. The small building was awash with the scent of his efforts. The first course was a savory potage à la Reine, followed by a fish course of fresh-caught trout seasoned with thin slices of lemon and almond purchased from market in Marlborough. The main entrée was a light rendition of chicken Florentine served in little crepes, followed by a small salad topped with wild berries. Dessert for that evening was prepared by Eugene, who made a simple but delicious-smelling chocolate bread pudding.

Ciel had to be shooed from the kitchen several times during the preparation of dinner, the smells having attracted him in time and time again; child or no, he was always eager to be used as a test subject for how foods were coming along. However, the servants eventually won out and Ciel was banished to the parlor, where Sieglinde and Lizzy were amusing themselves with a parlor game.

            Thankfully, Lizzy seemed in much brighter spirits than they had after their tiff that morning, and was eagerly leaning over a piece of paper upon which Sieglinde had jotted down the alphabet. They each had a fingertip resting on a coin and were quietly whispering to one another as they went about their game.

            “Oh spirits,” Sieglinde whispered. “Please tell us what you desire.”

            “You’re moving it!” Lizzy gasped as the penny began to slide towards one of the letters. “Oh, Sieglinde you’re moving it!”

            “I’m not!” the witch responded with wide eyes. “I’m really not, actually! Its moving itself – the _spirits_ are!”

            “T-I-T-T-E-N…” Lizzy whispered as the coin dragged itself across the paper. Sieglinde turned towards Ciel with a smug grin and the earl smothered his face in his hands, attempting to hold back his simultaneous chagrined groan and amused laughter.

            “I think it’s trying to spell ‘kitten’!” Lizzy gasped, looking at Sieglinde in wonder. “How amazing, it nearly spelled out a word!”

            “Let’s try again and see if it works – spirits, what can Lizzy and I do for you? Is there anything we can do to help you pass on?”

            “F-I-C-K-E-N —.”

            Ciel cleared his throat loudly, disturbing Sieglinde’s atrocious flirting over the spirit board. Lizzy started, pressing a hand to her chest as she sought to catch her breath.

            “Oh my goodness, Ciel! You scared me about half to death!” she laughed, clearly flustered at having gotten caught being so unaware.

            “Sorry,” the earl apologized, still giving Sieglinde a slight glare. At the witch’s apathy, he turned his attention back onto Lizzy. Sebastian had suggested that Ciel allow Souma and Elizabeth to work things out on their own terms – that they were both amiable enough people and the heightened emotions had gotten the better of them. Besides, it seemed as if their respective time to themselves had calmed them down a little.

            Souma had just come out of the bedroom and seemed to be in much brighter spirits. He walked in to the kitchen and up to Agni, brightly complementing how the meal was coming along. He too was shooed away to the parlor and he entered, coming to a stop as soon as his met eyes with Elizabeth’s. Immediately, the blonde abandoned the spirit board and stood to take Souma’s hands into her own.

            “Oh Souma, I’m so sorry for the way that I treated you earlier,” she said, eyes full of honest regret. “I shouldn’t have said any of those things about you – it was completely uncalled for. I was upset, but that’s no excuse whatsoever to talk poorly of a friend. I just – I’m concerned about your wellbeing, but that wasn’t the appropriate way or time to bring it up.”

            The prince nodded in understanding and – although his smile was still the slightest bit hurt – he accepted her apology graciously, “Thank you Lizzy, I appreciate your apology and you’re forgiven. I think – maybe we’re all a bit stressed out at the moment?”

            Lizzy nodded earnestly, “Again, that’s no reason to – oh Souma, you’re such a darling heart! If there’s anyone clever enough to figure out how to maneuver this situation, it’s you.”

            Souma smiled, ducking his head a little bit in the onslaught of flattery. “Thank you,” he repeated.

            “Speaking of how we’re going to work this whole thing out,” Ciel piped up, happy to see how quickly Sebastian’s prediction had come true. “Now that we have a moment to breathe, what exactly are we going to do?”

            It wasn’t as if there hadn’t been large gaps of time during the whole ordeal wherein they’d had nothing but their own anxieties to occupy them – but it seemed that everyone was so preoccupied with what was being thrown at them that they hadn’t taken the time to devise any sort of counter measures. Until then, their plans had strictly consisted of ‘hide from the giant deadly bird and try not to get killed’.

            “Well, tha’ seems like a good enough dinner topic,” Eugene commented, casually strolling into the parlor. “Lilley’s on.”

            The quartet of young people stared at him, moon-eyed before Elizabeth quietly asked: “Who’s Lilley?”

            Eugene chucked to himself. “‘S rhyming vernacular, you know: lilley an’ skinner. S’ time for dinner!”

            Clasping his hands in satisfaction, he traipsed back into the kitchen, leaving the four slightly-mystified young wards to follow him.

            The food was laid out in smorgasbord-style along the counter, which seemed to perturb Sebastian more than just a little as it significantly cut down on his dramatic flair for serving. As such, the food was easier and quicker to access, being piled upon the plate all at once in a way that nearly sent the demon into hysterics – not that he let this be seen more than just a slight twitch of his eyelid. Besides this, it was incredibly odd to have masters and servants both tuck in to dinner at the same time and place.

            But Eugene happily insisted that some ‘family bonding time’ was needed, and it was the best way to have everyone present for the devising of plans. Besides, it wasn’t as if they were sharing a table: strewed out awkwardly over the parlor were a collection of odd chairs and side tables that had been dragged in to create a circle around the coffee table.

            Even though they were made up, Ciel was still a little amused to see Sebastian’s barely-noticeable conniption pass right under everyone else’s noses (although he had a feeling that Eugene was aware of it to, due to the way he kept chortling into his drink).

            “Well,” Sieglinde began conversationally. “The other night I was able to bless one of the swords hanging in the study – it should be an effective way to kill one or both of the succubae.”

            “Don’t we want to avoid that, though?” Souma asked, setting down his fork. “I thought that killing one of them would start some sort of political uproar?”

            “As would killing myself, but they didn’t seem to mind nearly doing so,” Sebastian spoke up. “At this point, I believe that it might be in our best interests to use lethal force while self-defending.”

            “So are you proposing we kill them, or continue negotiations?” Ciel inquired. “Because that Brun woman seemed fairly resolute in her ultimatum.”

            “What we need to do is talk directly to her benefactress,” Sebastian said. “I can assure you that Mademoiselle Brun had – ah – little thought or input into the matter.”

            “You think she’s just getting dragged along for the ride?” Iris asked.

            “She’s being used as a mouthpiece for the other succubus,” Sebastian confirmed. “It shows that she wants to avoid compromises being made.”

            “Even if she could get somethin’ more juicy out o’ th’ deal?” Eugene inquired, draining his mug.

            Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, “It makes me think that this other succubus has some sort of insurance that’s preventing her from negotiating.”

            “What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked, voicing everyone’s inquiry.

            “Well,” Sebastian began. “It’s no secret that they know of my true identity – and if they know that much, then they must be aware that I have more than enough power, influence, and property at my disposal in order to assuage them. Half-demon children are born all the time, despite this sort of… tampering… I can’t fathom that they wouldn’t let it slide with the right amount of payment. So the question remains –.”

            “What kind of insurance do they have that would be greater than all you had to offer?” Ciel frowned, brow furrowing as he rested his chin on the steeple of his fingers. He glanced to everyone around the room, settling on Eugene who was staring into space with a vacant expression. Ciel rolled his eyes – whatever had been in that mug had certainly been alcoholic.

            “All ‘e ‘ad to offer,” the reaper repeated, standing up suddenly and bumping into the little side table he’d been using to eat his food off of. He immediately swept out of the room, mumbling to himself.

            “Where are you going?” Ciel asked as the reaper stepped in to the kitchen to retrieve his outer cloak. 

            “I need t’ place a call,” he said by way of explanation, shutting the front door behind himself.

            “I don’t know if such a small town like Marlborough would have a phone,” Lizzy pressed a finger to her lip.

            Sebastian shook his head, unsure of what Eugene was getting himself into. “I doubt he’ll be going that far – preternaturals have other methods of communication. I’m sure whatever he digs up will prove to be useful, though.”

            “Hopefully,” Ciel sighed. “So. Any thoughts?”

            “I think our best bet would be to send for Mademoiselle’s benefactress,” Souma spoke up. “Maybe she’s playing cocky and her ‘insurance’ is just a bluff? It makes it easier for Mister Sebastian to offer her even more in desperation once we find her.”

            “But the question is – how do we do so?” Ciel inquired.

            “Well,” Souma said. “She told you that you have until the thirty-first to comply? What then? Didn’t she say that she’d be bringing both her benefactress and the harpy to us?”

            “She did say that her coming here was our last chance to parlay, though,” Ciel sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple in frustration. “And without the Friday the thirteenth caveat, can we really trust that?”

            “Until then, our best course of action would be to prepare accordingly,” Sebastian surmised. “The weapon Lady Sullivan has prepared will be more than useful in that situation. Until then, we can only create more wards against them and hope that they’ll be willing to negotiate one last time.”

            “And if not?” Agni asked.

            “Well,” Sebastian hummed, flexing his claws. “That will certainly be interesting, won’t it?”

**Xxxxxxxxxx**

            It was eventually decided that the lodge was not quite large enough to sustain the nine people currently living there and, as such, it was remodeled in record time. Even Ciel – who was accustomed to such miraculous feats – had to be impressed. He had experienced on many occasions going to bed with the Phantomhive Manor half blown apart only to wake up to find it restored: furniture, paint, and all as if nothing ever happened in the first place. But this? This was another matter entirely.

            Namely, he’d never been awake to see what occurred in the interim. Or rather, _not_ see. When his butler had announced the plans to expand the lodge – a decision that relieved everyone in their party – Ciel had taken particular interest. He waited around, trying not to dog the demon entirely, eager to see what would transpire.

            Sebastian had ordered everyone into the parlor, as it would be the only room not to undergo remodeling, and the earl had placed himself by one of the back windows in anticipation. He’d stared out over the expanse of the weedy garden, eyeing the mound where the doll parts had been buried. Sebastian made his appearance outside by the toolshed, standing stalk-still as if in some sort of trance. And then, by total surprise, there was an entire part of the lodge protruding from the original house and taking up the western part of the garden, just bordering the toolshed. Its windows were far cleaner, and beyond them Ciel could make out another bedroom lit by small lamps.

            “How?” he muttered under his breath in wonder. He continued to watch as Sebastian wiped his hands, apparently dusty, and walked through the garden to the eastern side of the house. Out of view, the earl was left with no choice but to recline against the sill and wait. What felt like a minute later, his butler was waltzing through the front door looking mighty pleased with himself.

            “It’s done,” he announced casually.

            “Alright, but _how_?” Ciel cut in before his companions had a chance to voice their own surprise. “I was at the window the whole time and –!”

            “And?” the demon queried, cutting his master off unexpectedly. A strange smirk played over his lips. “What did you see?”

            “Absolutely nothing!” the earl cried. “You were standing there, in the yard, and suddenly there was more lodge. Did you just… just… _magic_ it into existence?”

            “More or less,” Sebastian returned with a short laugh. “My work cannot be noticed by the human eye. I daresay you didn’t notice that a whole ten minutes has passed?”

            “Ten minutes?” Ciel balked, turning to the sole clock in the room and nearly gaping at its face. Sure enough, just over eleven minutes had passed since he’d first taken his station by the window. “There’s no way,” he frowned with a shake of his head. “I swear I was only here for…”

            “Because you cannot witness my magic you lose consciousness of time. For you – as you described – what is built suddenly appears or – were you my enemy – disappears. Were you not paying attention,” he continued, nodding to the rest of the party. “The entire ten minutes would have been felt. Is this correct?”

            “Felt like,” Souma nodded, speaking for the others. “I can’t say I kept an eye on the time, but…”

            “So only I experienced a loss of time?” Ciel concluded, a bit taken aback. “Is this how no one’s seemed to notice the changes at the manor?”

            “Yes,” the demon smiled pridefully. “Certainly the other servants noticed: they just wised up about saying anything. How lucky I am to be able to utilize my abilities to their fullest.”

            “And that’s because you’re Malphas?” the younger stated in question. “This is a thing other demons can’t do?”

            “Yes and yes,” Sebastian answered in brief. “I suppose there are many things you’ve left to learn of me. Perhaps we could…?” he trailed of, indicating to the unexplored east side of the lodge. “You must forgive me, I’m still not totally healed: crafting took a bit more out of me than usual. If it’s alright with you, I would like to sit a while.”

            “Certainly,” Ciel answered at once, pushing off the sill. The others shot the pair curious looks, clearly interested in what the demon had to share.

            “I intended for this to be our wing of the house,” the butler explained, leading the other through the doorway that opened up to the kitchen and small pantry that ran the length of the home. Inside was a new door, and Sebastian turned the nob to reveal a rustic if cleanly bedroom. Two beds done up in heavy blankets sat with their headboards to the wall, a curtained window opposite them allowing moonlight to stream in. Oil lamps sat on each bedside table, already lit.

            “Incredible,” Ciel breathed, entering the room and turning about. “I mean, certainly I knew this was in your capability before, but that was merely recreating what had been there prior. This is… you created all of this from scratch!”

            “I did,” the other responded warmly. Unsure how appropriate his behavior would seem, he cautiously selected the farthest bed, toeing off his shoes and scooting over to where the mattress ran flush with the wall. An obvious space was left over and, with a flush of embarrassment, Ciel seated himself upon it, imitating his butler’s actions and sliding his legs just under the covers.

            Sebastian immediately sighed in comfort, letting his master settle into place, leaning ever so slightly against his arm. “May I?” he softly inquired, nodding to his side. Ciel’s blush deepened and he nodded his assent, letting Sebastian rearrange them so his arm fell across the earl’s shoulders, cradling him to his chest.

            Ciel nuzzled his head a bit, growing accustomed to their proximity. He could hear the steady cadence of the demon’s heart, feeling oddly comforted by the sound. As casually as he could muster, he laced the fingers of their right hands together, mindful that it was Sebastian’s injured side and grateful that it was that shoulder that met the wall.

            The events of the night before still played clearly in his mind: the soft plumage of Sebastian’s forehead against his bare fingers, the gentle hands that had cupped his face, the warmth of their embraces. All of it inspired a giddy feeling in his breast that warmed every inch of his body.

 _‘Is this what love feels like?’_ he wondered unabashedly. It was a fledgling feeling, but after what had transpired between them he was undoubtedly sure that the emotions he felt toward the demon were some kind of love, bordering on the romantic. How the demon felt towards him, however, he was far more hesitant to guess.

            It was all so markedly different from how they had been only a month and a half ago. Certainly they had both enjoyed the physical exertions but intimacy was not even a part of that picture. It had been rough and quick and full of backhanded teasing and prodding. There was no room for any sort of love there.

            Ciel fidgeted in place, aware that neither of them had said anything for a time. He knew what he wanted; he just didn’t know how to go about saying it. The last time he’d asked for sex it had been a demand, and an inescapable one at that. He winced at the memory. No matter how enthusiastic Sebastian had been, the pretenses were all wrong.

            Sensations of belated guilt spiraled through him. _‘Do I even have the right to ask this time?’_ he wondered. _‘He never seemed harmed but that doesn’t negate the wrongness of my past actions. Do I really have the wherewithal to actually ask this time?’_

            A soft noise from Sebastian spurred him to action. _‘He seems so relaxed and… sweet. What if this is something he wants, too?’_

            “Sebastian,” he began before he could second guess himself.

            “Mn?”

            “Things are really different between us,” Ciel continued, licking at his lips. He sounded so stiff it was laughable. “I really do trust and… and care for you,” he admitted. “And I… well… I would like to have sex with you again. Properly, this time. Is that…?” he trailed off pointedly.

            The demon’s smile was full of warmth and sincerity, unseen by Ciel. Head resting against the top of the others, he ghosted a kiss to the earl’s hair. “As much as I’d like that,” he answered truthfully. “I don’t think we ought to. Not as we currently are.”

            A flood of embarrassment and shame came over the earl, immediately detected by the demon. Sebastian pulled away slightly so they could look at one another, his expression serious. “I don’t mean to reject you,” he clarified. “I just think it would be better if we got to truly know one another first. I feel I may have a slight advantage on you there, but even at that, we only know each other for the façades we put on. What can you say you truly know of me?”

            Ciel searched his brain, but all he could produce was a name and a few facts garnered from an encyclopedia of the supernatural. It said nothing at all of who Sebastian – Malphas – was as a person, what his interests were, or where he came from. He shook his head a bit shamefully. Even as Sebastian the butler, there was very little he could claim to know of.

            But the demon relaxed at his ignorance and smiled, pulling him close once more. “If we’re to do this,” he continued not unkindly. “If we’re to raise our daughter together, then I’d like us to know one another properly. And… to do so before trying to reintroduce physical intimacy.”

            Ciel nodded, a bit relieved to hear the other’s response. He was right of course. Not only would it afford them a stronger relationship, but it set the standard for the rest of their actions: Ciel understood that from there on out sex wasn’t an expected part of their being together, nor was it something to be done without feeling.

 _‘Does this mean that we are officially a couple?’_ he wondered a bit belatedly. _‘As in a genuine one? Are we… courting?’_ The concept was not an unwelcome one.

            “If you’d like,” Sebastian spoke up. “You may ask me anything you wish and I will answer honestly and to the best of my ability.”

            Ciel quirked a brow. “Honestly?” They hadn’t been so good on that subject in the past, particularly Sebastian. The demon had always had some secret or another. Yet the proposition was tantalizing.

            “You have my word,” he promised. “Especially as I’ve been particularly evasive about –.”

            “Who you really are?” Ciel finished for him.

            “All of that, yes,” the demon nodded a bit sheepishly.

            “Hmn,” the earl deliberated. “Honestly I don’t really know where to start, there’s a lot!” he answered with a laugh. There were many things he would have loved to know throughout the course of their eight years together. Namely things like what the butler got up to on his off days or what he did when the man was not attending to him. Yet that seemed so irrelevant and artificial in light of recent events. Was that Malphas, or was it Sebastian? He only wanted to know about the demon’s true self, after all.

            “Okay,” Ciel settled. “So, uhm, forty legions, let’s start there.”

            “Forty legions, alright,” Sebastian smiled.

            “Who trained them?”

            “Who trained them?” the demon echoed. “Well in part, myself.”

            “You did?” Ciel queried in disbelief. “When did you have the time? Alright, maybe I should start from the beginning. Why did you leave Hell in the first place?”

            “Hmn,” the demon smirked teasingly. “Too much paperwork.”

            “Really?” the earl laughed incredulously. He couldn’t see the other man balking over any duty, least of all a bit of paperwork. Granted, it wasn’t his own favorite chore to get through, but he certainly couldn’t imagine going to the length of leaving home to escape it.

            “It's boring, alright?” Sebastian admitted with a chuckle.

            “You were bored?”

            “I was bored.”

            “There was too much –,” Ciel shook his head. “Okay, really, why did you leave?”

            “Well,” the demon hummed, stretching slightly in place. “It _was_ a bit boring sitting behind a desk all the time, drafting orders, signing off on requests, the like.”

            “That’s right,” the earl frowned thoughtfully. “You’re a prince, aren’t you?”

            “I am,” Sebastian grinned, small fangs showing. “Although it’s not quite as you’re thinking. I’m not like… like a Crown Prince, or anything like that.”

            “So just a titled one? Just higher than other nobility?”

            “Correct,” the demon nodded. “Although I could become a Prince or a King, even. Or, should I be very lucky, a Substitute King or even Emperor.”

            “Wait, wait,” Ciel interjected. “That was a lot. Explain?”

            “Alright,” Sebastian mused. “Let me know if I lose you,” he added kindly. “Hell is divided into two main layers. The topmost is ruled by the being you may know as ‘Satan’, although he goes by other names as well, such as Hades. This level is occupied by demons, both those that were born and made.”

            “Made?”

            “Yes,” the butler returned carefully. “Those humans who contract in life become demons upon their death.”

            “So you mean to tell me –!?”

            “That you, too, will one day be a demon?” Sebastian finished gingerly. “Yes, although you will already be one, at least half.”

            “What do you mean?” the other frowned.

            “Well, you’re carrying a half demon child,” the dark haired man pointed out. “Usually the blood of the child and the carrier mix at some point, generally in the birthing process. That demon blood will combine with yours and will alter your physiognomy. You will become partly demon from that alone.”

            “Alright,” Ciel returned slowly, warming to the idea. “So what does that mean for me, exactly? What does being partly demon even entail?”

            “You’ll have a longer life,” Sebastian answered truthfully. “And your senses will sharpen. You’ll probably have higher endurance for physical exertion and pain. You’ll be faster, with better reflexes. You’ll be able to heal yourself and regenerate to some extent. Your asthma should disappear, and,” he brightened considerably. “Your allergies should vanish too, including those to cats.”

            “You would be excited about that,” Ciel answered wryly. “Although it does sound extremely convenient, especially the part about my asthma. I can’t imagine an asthmatic demon would be very impressive, anyway.”

            “Not hardly.”

            “So what about you?” the earl pressed, interest rising. “Were you born or made?”

            “I have always been a demon,” Sebastian returned. “So I was born one, in Hell.”

            “Do you… do you remember your parents? Are they still alive?”

            “No,” the demon shrugged. “I lost them a very long time ago, before I could even really remember. Probably from some war or another. I don’t really know much of them, but I do remember the scent of lilies and that the one who took care of me had long, black hair. I suppose I take after them, though to be honest, I can’t be certain what gender my ‘mother’ really was.”

            Ciel blinked in surprise, “I suppose,” he returned slowly, looking to his own abdomen which had begun to rise just slightly. “They could have been anything, couldn’t they?”

            “Of course.”

            “So… how did you become a prince? Were you born into it?”

            “I was,” Sebastian nodded. “As I was saying, the top layer of Hell is that comprised by demons, and the lower layer belongs to the Fallen.”

            “Like Lucifer?” the earl snorted. Despite the Anglican environment around him, he had lost his faith long ago, all the while neatly ignoring the Hell from which his own butler seemed to derive.

            “Precisely,” the demon agreed. “He’s at the very bottom, above the pit and above Tartarus.”

            “So like in the _Divine Comedy_?” Ciel balked. “I thought that was just a story!”

            “Oh, it is,” Sebastian confirmed. “But Dante Alighieri was clearly privy to some sort of knowledge. Chances are he was contracted to a demon himself. Clearly he understands some of the organization of downstairs,” he continued. “Enough to know that – like Purgatory – each layer of Hell is arranged in layers of the Seven Deadly Sins.”

            “You’re kidding me,” the younger returned flatly.

            “Not at all. Each Sin has its own ranks of titled nobility and is ruled by a Crown Prince that embodies that Sin. They act as representatives for that stratum and form a sort of government under the ruling body, either – as you’d refer to them as – Satan or Lucifer. Of course they have other names, but that’s beside the point. From here, four Kings are elected for each of the two levels – they can be the Crown Princes or others of titled nobility. This then makes for eight Kings that unite the two halves.”

            “Alright, so then you’re part of the nobility of the upper half?” Ciel parsed out.

            “Precisely. But of course I have the ability for upward movement.”

            “So what Sin do you reside in, then?”

            “Lust,” the demon answered plainly. “My palace is of a Venetian gothic and it rests right on the River Styx. I can watch the ferrymen from my windows.”

            “Ferrymen? You mean the people who deliver the souls across the river?”

            “Yes, and they’re not just ‘people’, they’re reapers.”

            “Reapers?” Ciel blinked. “I suppose that makes sense. But wait a minute; isn’t Eugene’s surname ‘Fehr’? Like from ‘ferryman’?”

            “It is,” Sebastian smiled plainly. “He comes from the very family I’ve watched from my palace for centuries. Quite something, isn’t it?”

            “Small world, I suppose,” the earl shook his head. “So if you’re a prince, what is it that you actually do? And aren’t you a bit concerned that someone has taken over your home? Or your title, or something? Is that a thing that’s done?”

            “Absolutely,” the demon answered a bit sourly. “In fact, taking over other’s lands and households is a common occurrence. Thankfully my servants are well equipped and –.”

            “Your servants?”

            “Yes?” Sebastian blinked. “You didn’t think I lived alone, did you?”

            “Well I… I don’t know. It’s sort of an adjustment to think of _you_ having _servants_.”

            “I suppose it would be for you,” the demon chuckled. “But I, on the other hand, am quite used to it. And my household comprises some of the best. They can more than hold their own in a fight. That aside, they should be more than happy as their paychecks are still automatically dispersed to them.”

            “Alright, but why wouldn't they just take over in the meantime?”

            “They're not that stupid,” Sebastian snorted.

            “How long have you been gone? You think one of them would have wised up eventually and been like, 'I don't think he's ever coming back'?”

            “I came to earth around 1790, I believe,” the demon hummed. “And as for my servants, they’d be terrified to do a thing such as that. Try to take over in my stead? Sure, they’re strong, but they couldn’t match me and they know that.”

            “So what, you’d kill them if they tried?”

            “They can be replaced,” Sebastian returned indifferently. “I’ve done it before.”

            “I’m a much kinder master than you, then,” Ciel sniffed.

            “Why, because there are actually repercussions for murdering your household?” the demon laughed. “Because you can’t tell me you’ve not felt absolutely homicidal every time you have to replace china or windows or _entire kitchens_.”

           “You’ve a point there,” the earl groaned. “I'm surprised you haven't tried to kill my servants, then. Even still, I wouldn't like to have their blood on my hands.”

            “Well, that's why I haven't killed them,” the other bluffed. In truth he had grown an odd sort of attachment to the blundering trio, even if they often made his job ten times harder. Working alongside them had been quite a process, but somewhere along the way the demon had found that he actually cared about their wellbeing. They had become almost like a strange sort of family, loath as he was to admit it.

            Ciel gave him a knowing look but said nothing more on the subject. “So you trained the legions yourself?” he queried, recalling the earlier topic.

            “More or less.”

            “Do they like you?”

            “I suppose,” the demon answered thoughtfully. “I mean they don't dislike me. They're willing to die for me, so that's what matters.”

            “Alright, but why?”

            “Because they’re other demon residents of Lust,” Sebastian shrugged. “My cause is theirs, namely. I keep them safe and in turn they trust me with their lives. Thankfully I can keep a large majority of them safe ever since Halphas helped me.”

            “Who?”

            “Halphas,” the demon repeated with a small groan.

            “Who is that, your brother or something?” Ciel laughed. “Did someone downstairs just get lazy with the naming?”

            “No, actually, it's worse. It gets worse. His name is actually _Malthus_. Almost identical to mine,” Sebastian responded, growing slightly animated.

            “Really?”

            “Yes, and it's horrible: he's number thirty-eight and I'm number thirty-nine as far as the Pillars go, so you can only imagine how confusing that gets!”

            “What do you mean thirty-eight and thirty-nine?”

            “It means that of the seventy-two of us, Solomon found him before me. He was the thirty-eighth demon he found and recorded,” Sebastian explained. “But it’s fine now because I fought him, and he had to change his name because he lost.”

            “And somehow you thought ‘Halphas’ was less identical than ‘Malthus’?”

            “He did it to spite me,” the other answered in displeasure. “Of the seventy-two of us, I think I like him the least.”

            “So who do you like the best?”

            “Well…” the demon faltered, knowing the immediate answer. “Dantalion, for one. We… we used to be quite close,” he summarized quickly. “Though I also get along with Buer and probably Beleth too, though to be fair it’s only because I have a hunch that his true form is a cat.”

            “So do all of you have true forms?” Ciel asked, deciding not to prod an obviously sore subject.

            “More or less,” Sebastian answered. “Some are more obvious than others.”

            “Obvious like turning into a raven the size of a horse, or…?”

            “Well take Amon, for instance,” the butler explained. “His true form has the head of an owl, the body of a wolf, and the back end of a serpent. He’s what I’d consider obvious.”

            “Oh,” the earl returned, a little disgusted. “That’s… hmn. So what would be less obvious?”

            “Someone like Paimon or Vasago,” the other hummed. “They just appear as beautiful people all the time.”

            “That sounds significantly preferable.”

            “Well yes,” Sebastian concurred, a small caw escaping his lips as their readjusting led him to bump his injured shoulder against the wall. Ciel froze, growing strangely excited.

            “Did you just make a bird noise?”

            “...Yes,” the demon relented. Then, a bit warily, “What?”

            “Can you make more?”

            “Technically.”

            “Do all demons make little noises that sound like their true form?”

            “Well more or less,” Sebastian confirmed. “I mean, it gets pretty confusing when it gets to some of us. You have to figure, someone like Sytry appears in true form as a winged leopard, so he makes the sounds of both creatures. Rather, it comes out as more of a mix of the two. You see, some of us are capable of sounds that don't actually exist in natural life?”

            “That's slightly terrifying.”

            “I suppose it is, yes.”

            “I'm kind of glad you're a bird, then,” Ciel admitted, snuggling closer. After a minute he frowned, thinking critically. “If you’ve been around for hundreds of years –.”

            “Thousands.”

            “For _thousands_ of years,” the younger corrected. “And you reside in Lust, then surely you must have had children by now?”

            “I… I’m not sure?” Sebastian answered with a surprising amount of guilt and embarrassment.

            “No, no,” Ciel insisted. “How many children do you have? You said you don't know, but an estimate?”

            “An estimate?” the demon snorted. “I can't give you an estimate, I've been around for thousands of years! Technically I could have many great-descendants by now but I’d never know of them.”

            “Okay, say… more than a hundred or less than thirty - that's an estimate.”

            “More than –?” Sebastian merely laughed. “I think we’re both better off not knowing.”

            “So does that mean that,” Ciel swallowed a bit thickly. “That this is the first time you’ve stuck around?”

            “Yes,” the other answered honestly. “I’ve said time and again that I was a person who ran from commitments. But I’m a much different person now than I was. I have no intention of leaving either of you unless you wish it.”

            “Of course not,” Ciel countered softly.

            “Does it bother you?” the demon asked after a pause. “That I most likely have other children out there?”

            “It’s not like you can take it back,” the other answered frankly. “Although it would have been nice to know them. Have you ever met one?”

            “No,” the dark haired man sighed. “It’s truly incorrigible of me, isn’t it? But I should clarify – it’s not as if I’ve intentionally left those that have become pregnant by me. Rather, I never stuck around long enough to find out if such a thing occurred. I really have no knowledge of my… descendants.”

            “Did you love any of them? Their hypothetical parent, I mean?”

            “I… there were a few throughout the years I became close with,” Sebastian admitted. “But I left before their feelings could be known to me. Except… well… I don’t know if you wish to hear about it.”

            “Please, go on,” Ciel encouraged. “I’m far more curious than I am jealous.”

            “Well… Dantalion was the closest I ever came to taking as my mate. Solomon brought us together as Pillars and we were fast friends ever since. He’s the sort of man that doesn’t take anything serious, save for the troubles of those he cares about. I guess you could say he calmed me down a bit. Things developed between us, and, well… in the end I ran from him, too.”

            “Is he still…?”

            “Alive?” Sebastian finished for him. “Yes, thankfully. Past lover or not, he still is a good companion and I should hate to lose him. Not that I’ve seen him for around a hundred years,” he added. “Despite our past, I’m sure he would be happy to know that…” he shot Ciel a quick look. “That we’re expecting.”

            The earl flushed and nodded, feeling a bit relieved. He didn’t really want to know if feelings still persisted between the two demons, but after what had transpired with Eugene, he wasn’t sure how important the matter really was. _‘They practice polyamory, after all. It wouldn’t be fair to impose my cultural reservations against them, even if it does take a bit to get accustomed to,’_ he rationed.

            “You mentioned something I didn’t understand,” he spoke aloud. “You said you were nearly mates? But also that you were friends?”

            “Ah,” the demon laughed. “Different concept entirely. A mate, in terms of the supernatural, is someone who you are bonded to for life. It’s… like marriage, just more permanent.”

            “What could be more permanent than marriage?”

            “Oh, quite a bit, apparently,” Sebastian smirked. “See, to take a mate, one must share blood with their intended. Remember how I said that our daughter’s birth would alter you?”

            “You said I’d become part demon.”

            “Right, well, the same is true if a demon takes a human mate. Our blood is potent enough to actuate change in the human partner, even if it only exists in their body as a trace amount. The ceremony is done in private, usually when the couple is… being intimate,” he censored himself with a wry smile. “The blood is withdrawn with fangs: in the case of a human partner, then the supernatural will use their claws to puncture the skin. Usually, the blood is licked up, and then, well, it’s as simple as that.”

            “So how is that permanent?” Ciel questioned, trying not to think too hard on the insinuations. _‘He certainly mentioned humans a lot,’_ he hummed to himself. _‘Could it be that he feels so strongly towards me? Is that something that he would want? That I would want?’_

            “When two beings are mated to one another,” Sebastian explained, “Their souls become intertwined. No matter how far apart, they will be able to feel the vague emotions of their partner. If they’re happy, they will feel it. If they’re in sadness, they will feel that, too. It can make for the most exquisite of pleasures and the most terrible of pain. Should the pair be parted by death, the surviving mate will always feel as if a part of them is missing. It’s not a sensation of loss that can be remedied. A mating can never be undone, either. There is no taking such an action back. But when done in certainty, it is said to be the most intimate and rewarding feeling in the world.”

            “So… you’ve never married or taken a mate?” Ciel sounded out.

            “No,” the other chuckled. “It was never an interest of mine, not back then anyway.”

            “You say it as if it’s an interest of yours now,” the earl cautioned.

            “It is,” the demon answered simply. “I’m ready to settle down at this point in my life.”

            “Would you…?” the younger began, cutting himself off and burying his face against the other’s side. There was no way he could ask such a thing. They had only just reconciled – it was not the time to be talking marriage proposals, especially not permanent ones.

            Sebastian said nothing for a moment, pressing a more obvious kiss to the top of Ciel’s head. “Having and creating a family is above that, however,” he assured, understanding what the earl was on the precipice of asking. “Creating a good life for our daughter is the most important thing to me right now.”

            “Well good,” Ciel sighed, genuinely relieved but trying to laugh off his own awkwardness. “Because there’s absolutely no way you’re getting me into another dress.”

            “No matter how darling you look in them?” Sebastian teased.

            The earl scoffed, sending a loose fist into his butler’s side. “Not funny.”

            “No, I’d never force you into a situation you weren’t comfortable in,” the demon assured softly. Parting from the younger, he collected Ciel’s chin in his fingers. They held each other’s gaze for a moment, just melting in each other’s open presence.

            “Please never leave my side,” the earl whispered. He knew his own off-kilter heartbeat must be loud in the demon’s ears. Still, he couldn’t suppress his earnest wish.

            “I never intend to,” Sebastian promised.

            Ciel’s eyes fluttered closed and he leaned in towards the demon, sighing as their lips met in their first honest kiss.


	20. Gelsemium Sempervirens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this before hiatus!

**The Sum of Our Parts**

**Chapter Twenty**

**Gelsemium Sempervirens**

_“Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart;_

_My silent heart, lie still and break:_

_Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed_

_For a dream's sake._ _”_

– Christina Rossetti

            Eugene Fehr stood in the office of Master Librarian Victor Laraux, fingertips brushing over the glass-front bookcases behind the desk. Within were stored uniform encyclopedias and pricy first-edition volumes of popular supernatural authors. There had been a time not so long ago that those bookcases had been filled with volumes of his own choosing: beaten-down copies from human and preternatural writers alike that Eugene had worn to shambles with his repeated reading, a series of handwritten journals detailing his time overseas wherein he’d acquired some of the more precious texts now located in the library downstairs, and hand-carved knick-knacks and gifts from friends the world over.

            The door opened behind him and in stepped not the head librarian, but a thin, scarred man whose head was topped in wispy blond curls. Eugene eased a little, instantly recognizing his old friend and striding up to him with an extended hand.

            The blond man grabbed Eugene’s hand enthusiastically, securing his other hand over Eugene’s shoulder, “Eugene Fehr!” He was smiling but he looked about ready to drop from exhaustion. “If it isn’t a pleasure to see you after all this time.”

            “Jacque Hugo, I’d be damned if I couldn’ say the same,” Eugene returned warmly, pulling away from his friend and glancing over his shoulder into the hallway. Jacque laughed softly, opening the door behind him again.

            “Victor won’t be joining us,” he explained. “I’m sorry you were sent here instead of my office – the staff wouldn’t know their arses from their elbows if one didn’t have a hole. Won’t you follow me?”

            Eugene nodded and followed his friend at a brusque pace. The office of Head Librarian was situated at the uppermost floor of the Library, naturally, while the other offices were located spaced out around a center campus. They took a mechanical lift down to the first floor and stepped out into the brisk morning air.

            The Reaper Headquarters for the British Isles took up an impressive amount of space, the dark buildings arranged in a square with the library looming above them impressively. Cobblestone paths cut across the grass, lined neatly with apple trees, their boughs heavily pregnant with the fall harvest.

            Reapers cut across the quad, carrying briefcases and coffees as they headed to their respective departments to start the day’s work. In the very center of the quad stood a massive two-toned marble statue of a cloaked figure in black riding upon a horse carved out of white. A skeletal hand extended from beneath the effigy’s cloak, the other grasping a massive metal scythe. Its finger was pointed straight forward at the Center for Transportation, symbolically gesturing through the mirrors within and into the mortal realm.

            The pedestal the statue was situated upon was emblazoned in bold: **AD VITAM. AD MORI.** For life. For death.

            Finally, they came across a low-rise building where the Offices of Law were located, divided equally to the reaper law enforcement officers and lawyers. Eugene followed Jacque up the flight of stairs and into the foyer, where a grumpy set of reapers were conferring over a cup of coffee.

            “There hasn’t been a case of living corpses in almost a month,” the elder of the two scowled.

            “Isn’t that good though?” his partner, a younger woman, asked as she adjusted her glasses. “Less work?”

            “As if,” the man snorted, slamming his coffee down on the front counter and startling the receptionist. “It means less time for me out on the field culling them and more time stuck behind a desk doing paperwork. Do you know I’m _still_ cleaning up after the Campania mess that started this whole thing?”

            “Better to send an officer than a common member of the dispatch society,” the woman replied a little tersely, sipping from her own coffee.

            “I swear, when we get a name for that dissenter reaper who started this whole mess, I’m going to find him and wring his neck _personally_ ,” the male reaper grunted, flexing his arms as if to make a point. His lady companion giggled, but Eugene ducked behind Jacque with wide eyes, pointedly staring away from the pair.

            “Have you heard about that?” Jacque inquired as they scaled the stairs towards his office. “It’s an absolute shame, I think.”

            “Oh yes, awful. Dreadful,” Eugene agreed quickly, happy to be getting away from the reaper who would most like to see him behind bars. He was thankful that Grell and Ronald hadn’t seemed to recognize him by name when aboard the Campania, or his job would be a lot more difficult.

            They finally arrived at Jacque’s office, which was at the back of a busy floor of cubicles. All of the walls were paned in windows so that Jacque could see over his department, making Eugene a bit anxious at being recognized. However, his old friend quickly drew the blinds around the office, leaving only a bay window that rested over a silvery lake through which the human realm was visible. It was one of the curiosities of Mirror Side: all the reflective surfaces of water showed the shores of the human equivalent on the other side – today, while Mirror Side was overcast and misty, the human realm appeared to be storming, the water’s surface rippling appropriately, silver-blue lightning arcing beneath.

            Jacque gestured kindly towards one of the armchairs in front of the desk and Eugene made himself comfortable. The blond reaper situated himself behind his desk, sighing and moving around massive sheaves of paper to make room to rest his elbows. Eugene felt a pang of guilt knowing that the reports on the Bizarre Dolls were inevitably part of that mess. With the amount of political turmoil the British Isles division was in – without a proper Lord or Lady Death guiding them – Jacque already had to be drowning in work without Eugene’s shenanigans being added to the pile.

            Apparently finding a comfortable position, Jacque exhaled and looked up to Eugene with a smile that was simultaneously genuine and forced.

            “Now,” he said. “What brings you here today, Eugene? Don’t tell me you’re finally going to kick that Laraux out of your library and set things right?”

            Eugene laughed nervously, willing his chuckles not to float into hysteric territory. He was considerably more… _mentally bent_ than the last time that he and Jacque met. If he let on that he wasn’t exactly in the sanest condition it would make his job that much more difficult. It was already incredibly risky snooping around his old haunt with the Bizarre Dolls hanging over his head. The last thing he needed was to be incarcerated while so much was at stake.

            He had realized it over dinner when the others had been talking insurance – what _could_ be better insurance than everything Malphas had to offer? And the best way to ensure that was made a reality was to forge a covenant. If that could be pulled off – especially without Malphas’ knowing – then he could very well be forced to sacrifice everything and more. Eugene was unsure if it could be accomplished – in his prime, the contract library had been a heavily-guarded and maintained section. Not a covenant was formed that Eugene didn’t review for fairness with his own two eyes before passing it off to the lawyers for closer inspection.

            Victor Laraux – then second-in-command at the library and now Head Librarian – had been eager to rid of Eugene’s methods, which he claimed were superfluous and pricy. As far as he was concerned, demons could manage their own contracts and humans didn’t need reapers to babysit their souls until they were ready to be harvested.

            It would be natural that the contract library would have fallen into misuse and decay during Eugene’s absence, making it all the easier for the covenants therein to be abused. Eugene hoped that his epiphany proved to be untrue.

            “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m quite ‘appy in retirement. I think I’ve ‘ad enough of politics for now.”

            Jacque nodded in understanding, although he seemed genuinely disappointed. He leaned heavily into his mangled right hand (a reminder of the old demon raids), massaging the bridge of his nose below his spectacles, “Eugene, I have to admit to you that right now would be the ideal time for you to come back.”

            “Wha’ d’you mean?” the mortician asked, the hackles on his neck rising with suspicion.

            “There was a murder in the contract library about two weeks ago – the attending librarian, Edgar Rivers, was found on the afternoon of the fourth,” Jacque pulled a case file in front of him, opening it up and spinning it to show Eugene. The white-haired reaper stood and looked down upon the documents, thumbing through the coroner’s report. Based on the details of Rivers’ death, something other than a reaper was clearly responsible – nothing but claws would be able to have provided those sorts of lacerations on his throat.

            “They’re writing it off as another reaper with a grudge,” Jacque explained with a thin smile. Eugene’s eyes widened and he nearly dropped the file.

            “Another reaper?!” he exclaimed, setting it down firmly on Jacque’s desk. “But clearly —.”

            Jacque held up a hand, shaking his head in disdain. “I know,” he said. “That’s an ‘updated coroner’s report’. The original one was thrown out when it was sent to the Department of Dantean Affairs to be assessed.”

            The Department of Dantean Affairs was a relatively new department that Eugene himself had helped to establish – it dealt with the inter-relations between the realms: Mirror Side, Mag Mell, the Mortal Realm, Purgatory, Heaven, and Hell. It was named for Dante Alighieri, whose works detailed the last three. Eugene considered it to be his greatest accomplishment, hoping that it would help to improve relations between supernatural beings and that reaper headquarters the world over would follow the example. However, it appeared that this department was either underfunded or run completely on hush money if it was blatantly ignoring incidents that would cause it to be put to use.

            Eugene crumpled, falling back into his armchair and covering his face with his hand; guilt rushed over him in waves. Jacque sighed and stood, rounding his desk and setting a comforting hand on Eugene’s shoulder.

            “I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty,” he said softly. “Just that – we could _really_ use your influence right about now, Eugene,” he cleared his throat and changed the subject with a little shake of his head. “Nevermind that. What brings you here today, Eugene? I’m sorry you were waiting in Laraux’s office for so long – it appears he conveniently took a vacation the moment news of the murder broke. It took a while for word to reach me that you were looking into conditions at the Library. I’ve been put in charge of admitting visitors in the meantime due to the fact it’s considered a crime scene. What were you looking for?”

            “I’ve reasonable cause to believe tha’ there’s been tamperin’ with the contracts,” Eugene lied. It was more of a suspicion or hunch, but ‘reasonable cause’ sounded much better in a professional situation. Not that Jacque would bar Eugene from the library anyway: he seemed much more eager to get him back in than Eugene even was.

            “You think it’s connected to the murder?” Jacque inquired, interest clearly piqued. Eugene shrugged.

            “I wouldn’ know until I get to look in’tit,” Eugene admitted. “I… wouldn’ doubt it, though. ‘F a contract was edited, a murder is usually much more effective than ‘ush money.’

            Jacque nodded in sad agreement, just as aware of political workings as Eugene was. He opened his drawer and extracted what the other reaper immediately recognized as the official documents used to admit visitors and ambassadors to restricted areas of the Library. It was incredibly odd to see it in the Law Offices and not in the Library, where it was intended to be kept. Things really were all over the place.

            “By the way, Eugene,” Jacque paused as he penned out the forum. “I’m certain you’ve heard of the Campania and living corpse incidents.”

            Eugene’s heart caught in his throat and he instantly paled. Jacque was glancing up at him through his spectacles with a sad but amused expression.

            “According to eye witnesses, we’re looking for a rogue reaper, standing about six feet two inches with long white hair and a scar running diagonally across his face,” Jacque described. He looked back down to the documents and continued on conversationally, patting a fat file sitting on his right hand side. “I’ve taken quite a personal interest in this case, and I’ve been quite happy to see that the mutilations have stopped within the past several weeks. Now, I’m not sure what this ‘rogue reaper’ is up to, but I wouldn’t like to see these living corpses continue to show up. A lot of our old friends are very concerned about this situation as well; it would be a shame if they would have to help out on the case. They’re determined to see this reaper cease _shitting all over his morals_ _and playing God_.”

            Eugene winced, all but retreating into his cloak. Jacque was staring at him, thin-lipped and wide-eyed. It was clear that his friends in Headquarters had been quick to recognize his description and it was a miracle that his good friend Jacque was head of the Law Department. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the reason that he wasn’t currently incarcerated.

            Eugene’s guilt doubled, knowing that his old friends – who he hadn’t even bothered to speak to in decades – had been covering for him for the past eight years while he went about bastardizing everything they stood for. The dirty political climate that had poisoned Headquarters for years had always sickened Eugene and he felt both despicable and blessed to be finally benefiting from his years of kindness and personal favors.

            Despite this, their patience was eventually going to run out and he’d be at the mercy of the Disciplinary Council, but Eugene had already made his choice.

            “I’m sure,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “That this ‘rogue reaper’ ‘as ‘ad a change of ‘eart quite recently and been delivered a rather necessary callout to ‘is stupid an’ insane actions. Hence the sudden stop to the Biz – erm, livin’ corpses.”

            Jacque stared at him for a moment, face blank, before his it was split with a grin. He handed over the forum, shaking his head.

            “Eugene, you better not pull anything like this ever again,” he said amiably, although the other reaper knew better than to take the legitimate threat as a playful jab. “Especially when we need you so badly.”

            “This is…” Eugene faltered as he accepted the form. “ _Not_ somethin’ that should be just given a slap on the wrist, Jacque. This is – you’re right, I’ve been playin’ God an’ I should be tried to the ‘ighest decree of the law —.”

            “The law is fucked and for now I need to follow suit,” Jacque bit out. It looked painful for him to admit. “Like I said, we need you back here, and even if you’ve gotten a little,” he sat back to assess Eugene fully. “ _Batty_ , I still know you as one of the greatest reapers who ever lived. And that person is still there, Eugene.”

            The other reaper flushed, ducking behind his bangs as to shield his face. “You flatter me —.”

            “I really don’t,” Jacque said, shooing Eugene away to his destination with a flap of his hand. “So don’t ever fuck up again, Eugene Fehr.”

* * *

            Sebastian and Souma’s joint plan of getting in contact with Cosette’s benefactress was far easier said than achieved. It was going on three days since the idea had first been posited and the group was no closer to reaching out to the succubus than they had when they started.

            Ciel had first spoken up about writing to her before they collectively recalled they had no means of reaching the woman. Sebastian had double checked Cosette’s calling card, but, as he had feared, she had included no means of reaching her, either at an address or a post box.

            Sieglinde and her maid suggested that they try to put out feelers among their coven, breaching into the supernatural realm to try to find anyone who might know more about the mysterious pair – surely someone would have had to take note of a harpy. But so far removed from their usual base of operations, the proceedings could only progress so quickly. As such, the suggestion was quickly struck down.

            With no knowledge of where the pair was staying it was hard to get very far at all. There was no indication how near or far the two succubae were stationed, whether they had property or had put up in a hotel, whether they had access to a telephone or not. Knowing only one of their names helped little, especially given the likely event that the accented Cosette was a foreigner. Even if they tried to inquire with county officials to find a census register, they weren’t bound to find anything. An immortal was bound to use a false name after a time and there was no guaranteeing that either Cosette or her benefactress even resided on what was termed the Mortal Realm.

            “Damn Eugene,” Sebastian swore when they had exhausted their options. He sent the long mirror by the fireplace a dirty look. “He would have been our best option for finding them.”

            “Why’s that?” Souma frowned, following the demon’s gaze and finding no answers there. “What more could he have done? Does he have good connections?”

            “Well, I’m certain he does,” the butler hummed. “But I was referencing to his ability to use the mirrors. Chances are those succubae have linked up to Mirror Side for convenience sake.”

            “Care to clue the rest of us in?” Ciel drawled from one of the armchairs. They’d been at the question for days and he had long since developed a lingering headache. He propped his forehead against a hand, looking generally worn thin and unimpressed. “You forget these days that the rest of us are human.”

            “Right,” Sebastian amended hastily. “I suppose there was a lot there.”

            “I know a little bit,” Sieglinde offered, drawing the group’s attention and the demon’s vague surprise. “Mirror Side is the realm of the supernatural,” she explained, flattening her skirts with her hands. “Although I suppose mainly reapers reside there?”

            Sebastian nodded in agreement.

            “It’s suitably named,” the witch laughed. “It’s more or less an exact copy of the world we know of – geographically and spatially. Of course there are some major differences – government buildings and the like are said to be in different places and look much different. Some of the architecture is rumored to be a bit weird… lots of gothic style and dark iron.”

            “Not to mention the carriages pulled by creatures only the fair folk can see and there are mirrors and apple trees everywhere,” Sebastian couldn’t help but interject.

            “Right, the mirrors,” Sieglinde agreed. “See, Mirror Side isn’t just a copy of Earth: it’s a reverse image, so to speak. There are some places that can be accessed by magical doors. Say you go down to a basement here, right? Well say then that there’s one of those special doors at the bottom? If you go through it you’ll end up on Mirror Side, but you’ll be on the ground floor again! You pop out in the reaper world – it’s kind of like gravity has reversed itself: you should be upside down, by all rights, but you’re not. I’m not entirely sure how to explain it, really. But there are much more convenient means of getting there,” she continued, growing excited. “You know about Ley Lines?”

            “Yes,” Ciel frowned. “Those are supposed to be pathways crisscrossed all over the world. If a human wanders across them, they get pulled into the fairy world. But that’s awfully fantastical t–.”

            “Really, Ciel?” Souma quipped, brow cocked. “The fairy world is beyond belief but not your _demonic pregnancy_?”

            The earl shot his friend a peeved glare, pursing his lips but unable to retort.

            “It’s a lot like that,” Sieglinde chuckled, pressing on. “Basically Ley Lines are places where the barrier between realms is weak. Well the same is true of mirrors and the reaper world. It’s a type of portal or means of transportation. _Teleportation_ , I guess,” she amended thoughtfully. “Technically, they can take you across the world in the blink of an eye. See, they have to be assembled by reapers. I’m not sure how they activate them, but mirrors become linked – if it’s between the human world and the reaper world, then the adjoining mirrors have to be placed in the exact same location as one another. The mirror is turned into a portal by drawing a sigil on the surface, and then you just step right through!”

            “So if we knew that seal, we could just use that old mirror in the corner to go places?” Ciel surmised with a frown. “But we could also end up anywhere?”

            “Yes,” Sieglinde returned cautiously. “I mean, that would be providing that that particular mirror is linked to another one. But –.”

“Given Eugene?”

            “Then yes, it probably already is linked. We just don’t know where to. Or how to use it,” the witch sighed in defeat. “Chances are it just leads back to your manor. There’s no way of knowing, though.”

            “So mirrors can work between one another on… on this side?” Ciel asked.

            “Yes,” Sieglinde clarified. “They can go our side to our side, their side to their side, or in between the two. But that’s all, mind! They can’t transport anyone to, say, Hell or Purgatory.”

            “You know,” the earl groaned. “At this point I’m not even going to try and contemplate what you just said. I don’t even want to think about it.”

            Sebastian snorted indignantly from his position resting against the arm of the couch. Clearly thinking of a retort, he instead nodded to the mirror in the corner. “Perhaps we can try it?” he suggested. “If we can get it to work, it might be a boon to us. As I said before, the succubae are very likely linked to the mirror system. Their connection is probably logged somewhere in the reaper world. All it would take is a trip to the Library to inquire with the reaper in charge of the portals. Although,” his expression soured. “I highly doubt they would be pleased to associate with the likes of myself.”

            “Because you’re a prince of Hell?” Ciel queried.

            “No,” the demon returned flatly. “Because reapers are racist.”

            “Oh, well,” the earl blinked in surprise. It was strange to think that such petty and mundane problems would persist even between otherworldly beings. _‘I suppose we all have our flaws and struggles,’_ he rationed.

            “What do you suggest we try?” Souma spoke up, brows screwed together in determination. He sized up the mirror, approaching it a bit cautiously.

            “Iris and I could try some sigils we know,” Sieglinde bit her lip. “It couldn’t hurt… right?”

            Sebastian shrugged, seemingly indifferent. “I suppose the worse that could happen is that you unintentionally summon a demon. It doesn’t really matter where you draw our sigils, so long as they’re written with the intent for the seal to work.”

            “Maybe we should not do that,” Iris quipped with alarm.

            The demon shrugged again. “It’s not as if you’re compelled to strike a contract with them,” he admitted. “Not that we generally let that be known. Besides, I can just as easily explain the situation to them and send them back on their way.”

            “Alright, but how many demons could you possibly know?” Ciel countered. “Surely some of them can’t know you or like you. I don’t exactly think we should loose unholy terror upon the countryside.”

            “At least seventy-one,” Sebastian returned neutrally. “As far as those that can be summoned goes, my odds are pretty good.”

            “Okay…” Sieglinde relented, suddenly much less enthused than before.

She and Iris knelt before the mirror, conversing quietly with one another as their respective Book of Shadows lay open across their laps. With their fingers they traced the outline of numerous seals. When these didn’t work, they tried writing on the mirror’s surface with colored wax pencils, also to no avail. Two hours in, they gave up, indicating for Sebastian to try in their stead.

            “Surely you must know something?” Iris supplicated.

            Sebastian raised a brow and shook his head. “This is not a good idea,” he hazarded, but set to work regardless. The party all separately braced themselves, certain that powerful demons and unspeakable abominations would come pouring out of the glassy surface, but none ever came. At length, there was an impotent puff of purplish smoke, but no other anomalies occurred.

            “I’m almost disappointed,” Souma whispered to Ciel.

            “Well I, for one, am not,” his friend disagreed. “The last thing we need is more trouble.”

            The prince huffed, “You’re no fun.” Getting up, he approached the mirror once more, placing his hands on his hips as if ready to scold his reflection. “Hey!” he admonished. “Work, won’t you? Open up? Open sesame? Uh… Reveal the way?”

            The iterations just didn’t stop.

            Ciel moaned, sinking into the back of his chair. It was only morning and he was ready to go back to bed. A dark shadow out the window caught his attention, however, and he sat more erect, trying to peer out the glass beside the front door. A smart rap caught the attention of the party, each pausing in rigid stillness.

            “What in the world?” the earl frowned, moving to stand. Sebastian quickly interceded him, proceeding to the front while slipping a glove from a hand, claws extended preemptively. Straightening his thunderous expression into one of neutrality, he opened the door a margin, presenting his less threatening side.

            “Good morning, how may I…” he trailed off, gaze suddenly dropping when no one appeared to be on the stoop. “Help you?” he finished, settling upon the hobgoblin that barely came to his knees.

            “You’ve gots a letter from Miss Cosette,” the creature answered rudely, shoving forward the off-white envelope.

            “Mademoiselle Cosette?” the demon reiterated with false sincerity. “How pleasant.” He took the proffered letter carefully in a single hand as if careful not to touch the repulsive fae. “Does she anticipate a response?”

            Hob paused a moment, scratching at his chin as he tried to think back to his instructions. “No,” he answered, almost more of a question than a statement.

            Sebastian nodded tensely, scanning around for a sign of a carriage or horse. Finding none, he resolved that the creature had come by way of Ley Lines. It unsettled him to think that there was one so near the lodge as to make the walk manageable. 

            “Well,” he smiled forcibly. “Please thank the Mademoiselle for her correspondence,” he requested. “I’ve no doubt that we’ll be seeing more of her soon.”

          Hob snorted carelessly, pawing around in his jacket pocket for his tin of snuff. “Well that’s all I hads to say,” he grumbled, turning from the door abruptly.

            “Alright,” the demon responded in distaste. “Travel… fuck it,” he grumbled under his breath. Shutting the door, he turned back to the rest of the room, intent upon the sealed letter. One hand gloved, the other bare, he separated the wax seal from the parchment, slicing it cleanly apart with an extended claw.

            “Well?” Ciel pressed impatiently, keening forward in his seat as if a better view would ascertain him the letter’s contents quicker.

            Sebastian cleared his throat and began to read:

_Sunday, 22 October 1893_

_My Dearest Earl Phantomhive,_

_I hope this letter finds you well and in more agreeable spirits. It is so unfortunate that our last meeting had to surround such unfortunate circumstance. I can only wish that your decision has been made easier by time and careful reflection._

Ciel scoffed loudly, settling his arms across his chest. The barely hidden threat was enough to make him want to chuck the remainder of the letter into the crackling fire. Both succubae could go to Hell for all he cared.

 _‘Although,’_ he frowned in frustration. _‘That’s probably where they came from.’_

Sebastian continued reading.

_My benefactress – the esteemed Maeve Fitzpatrick – and I have taken lodgings in the lovely little town of Bath._

“Maeve Fitzpatrick?” Ciel asked in alarm, color draining from his face. He had been certain to remember that name. The callous blonde that had accosted him at the cemetery outside the Middleford Manor had more than made an impression on him.

            Suddenly everything began to make sense: the sudden threats and factory burnings, the intense interest of the succubae that came from seemingly out of nowhere.

            He remembered their second meeting when he had been beside his family’s graves. She had seemed oddly gleeful, as if she knew something he didn’t. Anger and embarrassment surged in his chest.

_‘She knew I was pregnant back then. She knew and she targeted me ever since. The situation must only have sweetened for her once she learned more about Sebastian. To think the Rutherfords aligned themselves with a creature like her – no, that matter no longer means anything to me. Just how long has she been stalking me? Since the beginning? It had to have been.’_

            He felt unsettled and unclean.

            “Are you certain that’s the name?” he asked evenly.

            “Yes,” Sebastian frowned, eyeing the penned cursive carefully. “Maeve Fitzpatrick. Do you recognize it?”

            “Do you?” Ciel asked in turn.

            “Well, no,” the demon admitted. “But I don’t make company with her kind in the first place, not if I can help it. Should I recognize her?”

            “I’m not sure,” the other sighed. “She was at the funeral for the elder Rutherford,” he explained. “I know you were elsewhere at the time, both then and again when she appeared to me later, when I went out at the cemetery. It’s unlikely you _saw_ her but perhaps you _smelled_ her?”

            “Unfortunately, no,” Sebastian shook his head. “Incubi and succubae have nearly no natural scent – they are very hard to detect. However, I have noted that both of the succubae in question to our situation wear distinct perfumes. Now that I’m familiar with the one that belongs to – he paused to glance at the name – to Miss Fitzpatrick, I would be able to quickly find her in a crowd.”

            “I suppose I should be thankful for that much,” Ciel accepted grumpily. Still feeling a bit shaken, he motioned for his butler to continue.

_After much thinking, we must announce that we have reconsidered our terms and are willing to renegotiate with you and your –_

Sebastian issued a low growl of derision.

_– and your pet Hell demon. We strongly request that you and he come alone: should this parameter not be met, all negotiations are off and the lives of your companions cannot be assured._

_From your current location, you may quickest reach us by traveling to Swindon and taking the train from there to the Bath Spa station. We are situated at the end of Pulteney Bridge in the Sydney Hotel. You can expect no unwanted human attentions as the building of choice has sat abandoned since two years ago when the property lease to the hotel and the gardens expired. In accordance with this, it is highly advised that unfavorable attentions are not garnered when approaching the building, lest unfortunate circumstances result._

_Miss Fitzpatrick and I have agreed to meeting with both you and Malphas this evening, so please be prompt. We look forward with anticipation to our discussion. You may find us at the following address:_

_Sydney Hotel_

_Great Pulteney Street_

_Bath BA2 4DB_

_United Kingdom_

_Kindest Regards,_

_Mlle. Cosette Madeline Brun_

“Well,” Sebastian wrinkled his nose, folding up the letter and returning it to its envelope. “That can hardly bear good news.”

            “I concur,” Ciel agreed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “That’s just a recipe for getting attacked – of course they’d want just the two of us to show, what with that harpy they outnumber us! And it’s not as if…” he stared up at the ceiling, struggling passed his pride. “It’s not as if I’m of much help in a fight these days. Not that I suppose you’d _let_ me fight.”

            “I’d rather you not,” the demon admitted, surprisingly tender for their public setting.

            “You must let us accompany you!” Lizzy spoke up, growing alarmed. “We can’t just let you wander into such an obvious trap!”

            “Absolutely not,” the earl shut her down. “You heard what was said – if any of you attempt to follow us you’ll be killed. That, and their so-called renegotiation will be off. We’re better off following their terms than not. While I highly doubt that anything they have to say will be to our benefit, we may be able to find another way to work things into our favor. They may reveal whatever leverage they have, after all. We can’t jeopardize that possible lead.”

            “I understand what you’re saying,” the blonde assured him. “But I still think we should follow, even if it’s a few trains later. We could station ourselves around Bath and if things appear to take too long –.”

            “There would be no way of ascertaining how long the proceedings should take,” Sebastian argued regretfully. “They’re distasteful enough, faking kindness and all. I hope it won’t be the case, but they may ‘request’ that we spend the night at their holdings.”

            Ciel bristled noticeably at the suggestion.

            “I suppose you’re right,” Lizzy sighed, backing down. “But I don’t like it.”

            “Nor do I!” Souma agreed, clearly pouting. “This isn’t safe and it’s hardly smart,” he stated boldly. “I get what your intentions are, but this still seems like a horrible plan.”

            “The alternative may be far worse,” Agni spoke for the first time. He looked just as stressed as everyone else; equally loathe to admit the plan needed to be carried out. “While not outwardly stated, I think we can all agree to Miss Cosette’s implications: should our friends not show, they very likely will call off all aspects of the truce. None of us are in the situation to face them before the thirty-first. Not knowing what they have as a trump is extremely dangerous, and to engage them now would be approaching a fight blindly,” he bit his lip worriedly. “It’s undoubtedly risky, and I don’t think any of us are comfortable with it, but it’s a necessity that must be borne.”

            “I will keep Ciel safe,” Sebastian assured, slipping into familiar terms. “I promise it. I don’t deny the danger – to be frank, it makes even me nervous – but I can assure just as readily that I would stop at nothing to protect him.”

            The earl blushed deeply despite himself, feeling the demon too bold. _‘It’s like he’s more demonic the more time passes,’_ he thought embarrassedly. _‘Do they not have any sense of privacy or propriety in Hell?’_

            “I think it’s decided, then,” Agni smiled anxiously. Then, turning to the other butler, “Shall I help you prepare a carriage?”

            Sebastian placed a hand to his friend’s shoulder, doing what he could to put the other man at ease. He saw through the question immediately. “I would love your company, thank you.”

* * *

            The process of finding Ciel and Malphas’ contract book took Eugene much longer than he could have ever hoped or anticipated.

            More than a hundred years had passed since Eugene had been head of the Reaper Library and it quite clearly showed. The contract library had been completely shut down, the staff dispersed to the care and preservation of human’s life logs, which made up the vast majority of the library. The contract section was left to maintain itself, new covenants simply manifesting in the cabinets where the blank contract books were kept. Every year, a reaper would be assigned to go through the blank pages and place them alongside the filled ones. However, there was no longer any sort of organizational system implemented to make sure that the contracts were easy to access. They were simply removed from the cabinets and put onto the shelves.

            As such, the pacts were arranged roughly in groups of the year that they had been forged, but in no other chronological or alphabetical order after that. There had once been a master tome in which all the contracts had been logged down in perfect chronological order, but upon Eugene’s inspection, the last entry had been taken down during his own time in office. It seemed that Laraux had wasted absolutely no time abolishing the old system.

            Jacque had been able to grant Eugene access to the library, but the contracts had to be retrieved by officers from the Law Division who were stationed at the crime scene. Before Eugene was able to look at them, each contract had to be inspected for evidence, which made for a long and arduous process. Additionally, the officers kept sane hours – unlike Eugene – and were only present from nine in the morning until five at night. They were also incredibly begrudging.

            Eventually, Jacque was able to wrestle with the Library staff enough that he was able to get a set of graveyard shift officers who were much more sympathetic to Eugene’s cause. They were a pair of partners recently promoted from the Dispatch Society: Alan Humphries – whose mother Lily was the assistant to one of Eugene’s dearest friends Delaney Falkner, Head of Domestic Affairs – and Eric Slingby – whose father Reginald, Head of the Department of Health, had been Eugene’s partner in their days of the Dispatch Society. Jacque had clearly hand-selected the pair for Eugene’s convenience, and he couldn’t have asked for better luck. Once they had been assigned to assist him, his job was much faster, mostly because (despite Alan’s initial protests) they allowed him in to the contract library, where the three of them poured over the little books in bulk.

            “There!” Alan cried at six in the morning, startling his partner out of a light doze. Eric looked around for a moment before replacing his glasses. Eugene immediately stood and crossed over to the brunet’s side of the table.

            “A covenant formed between Prince Malphas and Cecil Phantomhive on January 15, 1886,” he presented the little red contract book to Eugene. The elder reaper took it up immediately, his face paling as he absorbed the contents.

“Under the jurisdiction of the overseeing reaper Office of Validation Secretary Lucy Myers, a contract has been forged between the THIRTY-NINTH PILLAR OF SOLOMON, GREAT PRINCE OF HELL MALPHAS and the HUMAN CECIL DIEDRICH PHANTOMHIVE on the morning of TUESDAY, 15TH OF JANUARY 1886 at the location of HENLY HALL | LONDON, THE UNITED KINGDOM exchanging the SERVITUDE OF THIRTY-NINTH PILLAR OF SOLOMON, GREAT PRINCE OF HELL MALPHAS UNTIL THE COMPLETE ERADICATION OF THE CULT OF THE DARK PRINCE for the SOUL of the contractee. Upon the Blood Mark of the contractee the following soul signatures hereby bind the following contractors together until death:

Contractor – Thirty-Ninth Pillar of Solomon, Great Prince of Hell Malphas

Contractree – Cecil Diedrich Phantomhive

Overseeing Reaper – Office of Validation Secretary Lucy Myers

This contract is authorized and recognized as legally and spiritually binding by Death Council Member and Chief of Library Victor Laraux

*As of TUESDAY, 3RD OF OCTOBER 1893, this contract and its constituents fall under the jurisdiction of the SUCCUBUS MAEVE BRIGID MAC GIOLLA PHÁDRAIG due to the compound contracting of the THIRTY-NINTH PILLAR OF SOLOMON, GREAT PRINCE OF HELL MALPHAS. Please see the improved contract for details.”

            Eugene’s heart fell into his stomach, but was quickly shaken out of his shock by Eric, who jabbed a finger at the addendum.

            “Look, the ink isn’t red yet,” he pointed out. Eugene looked and, of course, the ink of the addition was not red like the rest of the contract, which meant that the only thing stopping the new contract – and whatever it entailed – from being legitimized was the addition of Sebastian’s blood to the paper. Once the ink on the addendum went red, so would the ink on whatever contract the succubus had penned, and there was little that could be done to undo it.

            “I still ‘ave time,” Eugene looked from Alan to Eric and tucked the little red book into his cloak. He made to take off, but stared after the couple and the mess of little contract books spilled around them in piles. In three hours, the daytime shift would arrive, and they’d be all over their respective asses if they hadn’t cleaned up.

            “Please go,” Alan said politely. “You could only have minutes – we have all morning to clean this up, and it shouldn’t take us any time.”

            “ _Thank_ you,” Eugene said, reaching out to shake Alan’s hand and then Eric’s. He stopped and gripped the blond’s hand a little harder, feeling his throat tighten. He bore such a striking resemblance to his deceased father that it almost caused Eugene to start crying.

            “No, thank _you_ ,” Eric responded, his grip tightening in turn. “It’s an honor to finally meet my pop’s best friend. If there’s anything else we can do for you, please let us know.”

            Eugene nodded and turned on his heel, determined to return to the lodge before it was too late. He’d already been gone for several days and – like Alan had said – he really could only have mere minutes left.

* * *

            Standing on the platform of the Bath Spa station, Ciel stretched, desperately trying to loose the kinks from his back. The train ride hadn’t been horrible – just exceeding fifteen minutes, at that – but the two hour carriage ride prior had been murder on his body. He shook himself, wishing it would do as much for the swelling he felt in his ankles.

            Letting himself be guided by Sebastian, the earl made his way through the small station and out into the streets of Bath. It was surprisingly brisk, even for the early afternoon. A patchy fog had settled over the town, not halted in the slightest by the mild wind that pinked Ciel’s cheeks. He shivered, hunkering down into the warmth of his woolen overcoat.

            He had been to the resort town a handful of times before, usually on business with the Queen. For over a hundred years the Assembly Rooms had been a popular location for lavish balls and it was still fashionable to attend the Roman Baths to take the waters. It was a shame, then, that he had never been able to visit for pleasure.

            _‘I’d much rather be vacationing than bargaining for my life,’_ he thought dismally.

            Having a vague sense of direction he walked north from the station along the main road. The streets were bustling: those out from church service flitting around and finding all sorts of delights in the bountiful department stores. The shoppers chittered to one another, ignoring the earl and his butler. Certainly their countenances were grim, but they pressed on, maneuvering the ancient streets with purpose.

            Ciel started as he was pulled aside just as the spires of the Abbey caught his attention and the wafting aromas of Sally Lunn buns met his nose. His stomach gurgled at the promise of good food. _‘No time for that now,’_ he lamented.

            Sebastian was staring intently at him, licking his lips and allowing foot traffic to divert around them. Nodding to the nearby railing, he paused, resting his elbows casually against the light stone. Ciel mimicked his posture and for a while neither of them said anything.

            Before them spread the Parade Gardens, a sprawling lawn watched over by a bronze angel and bordered by the River Avon. Among the manicured flowers and shrubs strolled gentlemen and ladies, all laughing and conversing animatedly. For a moment Ciel allowed himself the luxury of pretending he was on such an outing himself, one wherein his life wouldn’t be at risk anytime soon. A look to Sebastian said that the butler was entertaining similar fantasies.

            “I suppose it’s time to regroup?” the earl brooked at last.

            “Yes,” the demon sighed, turning to his partner. He looked more worn down than he had in days, the stress clearly beginning to get to him.

            “Are you…” Ciel trailed off, not wanting to offend the other. “Are you ready to fight if need be?”

            “If you’re asking if I’ve healed sufficiently, then the answer is ‘yes’,” Sebastian confirmed, corners of his eyes crinkling slightly at the younger’s concern. “However, if you’re asking about the odds of my winning a fight, well…” he paused, look growing terse. “In that case, the plan would be for you to run and for myself to buy you as much time as needed.”

            “I don’t like the sound of that,” Ciel admitted. “That sounds far too endangering for you.”

            “It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” the demon shrugged tiredly. “As much as I wish you could, please do not forget about my own transformative abilities.”

            “Being able to –,” Ciel caught himself, lowering his voice. “To turn into a giant crow?”

            “Raven,” Sebastian corrected. “But yes. I can fly out of danger should the need arise. Then, just as easily – once far enough away and having located an inconspicuous landing place – I can resume this form and track you by scent. It’s the best I can offer at this point.”

            “We’re on shaky ground at best,” the earl sighed. “Aren’t we?”

            “I wouldn’t want to say that I am out of my depth,” the butler warned. “But given how taxing the harpy proved to be… well, to put it quite bluntly, I could not take all three adversaries on my own. Not at my current… status,” he continued slowly. “Were I to take up a more… _robust_ lifestyle, were I to have access to a healthy supply of souls, well, things would be quite different, then.”

            “Do you mean to say,” Ciel queried with a frown. “That souls are actually a part of your diet? As in a necessary component?”

            “Yes and no,” the demon returned thoughtfully. “Certainly I need souls to maintain my own life force – that’s not to say my own _life_. There are certainly demons that have forgone consuming souls altogether – human souls, that is – but they are incredibly weak. Rather, souls give us a sort of energy – consider it a spiritual boost – that allows us to expend more power through agility, force, and endurance.

            “They’re not strictly ‘necessary’ as you put it, but more of a guarantee of prowess and strength. Naturally, the more souls one eats, the stronger they become and the more they can exert themselves. This is why it’s common practice to feast before a big battle,” he admitted uncomfortably.

            “That being said, souls _are_ a large part of our diet: they just happen to give us the nutrients we need for our health as human food only provides so much for us. That’s not to say that we need strictly human souls to maintain ourselves. As you must know, I’ve not taken a single soul since I’ve been in your service.”

            “You must be starving,” Ciel blinked, feeling oddly guilty. He was no moralist, but he did feel a bit conflicted on letting his butler consume the innocent. Still, he knew in the end that he valued Sebastian’s comfort and health over the wellbeing of a stranger.

            The demon just smiled tightly, not wanting to implicate the other. “I’ve been making do off of soul wisps,” he said instead.

“What are those?”

            “The souls of small animals, mainly,” Sebastian explained. “Mice, rabbits, voles, the like. All living creatures have souls of some sort, some more fully formed than others. As makes proportional sense, the smaller the being, the smaller and less formed the soul.”

            “That seems to insinuate a lot about whales,” Ciel laughed shortly. “But is that really enough? Is that… sufficient?”

            “Consider it like taking tea as opposed to a full meal,” the demon fidgeted.

            “Perhaps you should… hunt… before advancing to the hotel?” the earl suggested, unsure of what words to use.

            Sebastian just shook his head, standing up from the ledge and squaring his shoulders. “No, it’s alright,” he assured, not sounding completely truthful. “I’ve hunted what I can about the lodge. It’s enough to sustain me for a time. It’s… what I can do, for now,” he restated. “I just wanted you to be aware of my desires; that I want you to run if things turn out poorly.”

            “They likely will,” Ciel sighed, straightening as well. “I’ll be sure to check for all possible exits – I advise you do the same.”

            Sebastian nodded in understanding, gesturing to the walk and allowing the earl to go before him. They continued along the gardens until they petered out before the building-lined Pulteney Bridge. With a nervous inhale, Ciel turned down the street, crossing the river and trying to clear his mind.

            Up ahead was their destination, a historic looking building with slightly Roman architecture, Corinthian columns supporting a triangular roof that covered a second story balcony. The gardens before it, once manicured, featured overgrown hedges and tall grass, giving the whole place a slightly ominous feel.

            Mustering his courage, Ciel proceeded up the walk, relieved only to have Sebastian at his side. They drew short before the double black doors, sharing an encouraging glance as the butler made to knock on the wood. The moment his knuckles made contact, however, the door gave way, swinging slightly open with a small squeak. Sebastian tensed, pushing the door open fully and peering inside. With no one to be seen, he advanced, checking the perimeter of the ground floor before beckoning Ciel inside as well.

            Unnerved, the earl followed, closing the door behind him and making sure to keep it unbolted. _‘Just in case,’_ he thought worriedly. He really didn’t want to abandon Sebastian, but he wanted to respect the other’s wishes all the same. _‘I really don’t like it,’_ he sighed inwardly, finding the stairs.

            Once again allowing the demon to take the lead, the pair ascended the back stairwell, squinting uncomfortably as the sunlight from above contrasted sharply with the poor lighting of the bottom floor. Taking the landing and approaching the solitary doorway they stepped into a massive and beautiful ballroom.

            A bank of windows ran across the opposing wall, offering a view of the balcony and the length of Great Pulteney Street beyond it, glittering in the sinking light of the afternoon sun. Ornate chandeliers draped from the ceiling, twinkling with crystal fixtures that highlighted the powder blue walls. Paintings and mirrors covered them, framed by the bone white crown molding and high baseboards. But most eye catching of all were the two elegantly dressed women and the giant black bird that stood in the middle of the room, centered atop a gigantic Persian rug.

            To the right – nearest the harpy, of course – was the woman they knew as Cosette. She stroked the avian’s darkened beak, not taking her eyes off the newcomers. At their arrival, a twisted smirk spread across her painted pink lips. To her side was the other succubus – was Maeve Fitzpatrick – her honeyed hair half up and falling around her shoulders in delicate waves. Her emotions were unreadable, her posture unyielding. When she spoke her voice was clipped and cold, “Earl Phantomhive, Malphas,” she greeted. “How nice of you to visit.”

            Ciel and Sebastian remained silent and still in the entryway, the demon resting a reassuring hand on Ciel’s shoulder. Maeve took a step forward, her soft green skirts rustling as she walked.

            “I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced,” she said, addressing Sebastian. She stopped short several paces of them as the demon’s grip on his master’s shoulder tightened possessively. “My name is Maeve Fitzpatrick, leader of the coven Piuthar an Nathair Glas. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Malphas.”

            “I wish I could say the same,” Sebastian said evenly, no emotion betrayed in his voice. “But under the circumstances, I cannot.”

            “If you’re expecting me to apologize for my actions,” Maeve turned on her heel and returned to one of the massive windows overlooking Great Pulteney Street. She stood there, her silhouette falling to a dark shape in the afternoon light that poured in, “I won’t.”

            The earl opened his mouth to retort, but was rudely cut off by Cosette, who trotted up to them and gestured sweetly to the room around them.

            “Won’t you come in?” she offered, turning on her heel and returning to Maeve’s side. “We’ve done all we can to fix the place up, just for you.”

            “I’d rather stay here, thank you,” Ciel said thinly. “Now, your letter mentioned something about renegotiations?”

            Cosette burst into a high-pitched peal of giggles, the harpy flapping its wings and cawing in almost-amused agreement. Ciel instantly scoffed and glared down the strange creature as Maeve turned back towards them with a single, low laugh of her own. Her green eyes seemed to have taken on an eerie glow, standing out against the half-shadowed shade of her body and glittering with poisonous intent.

            “Oh no,” she said softly. “There will be no renegotiations.”

            Ciel started, but was thrown behind one of Sebastian’s arms as the demon’s form began to ripple threateningly. He growled, the sound being mimicked by the harpy, whose feathers rose in retaliation. Sebastian made to shove Ciel towards the stairs, but Cosette was behind the earl in an instant, her perfume instantly overtaking his senses. She rested one gloved hand around the earl’s throat and Ciel’s hand twitched towards his gun, only for Cosette to grab his wrist and squeeze it with bruising force.

            Sebastian snarled at Cosette’s handling of his master, fangs instantly elongating as he started for her. Taking a deep breath, Ciel allowed the petite woman to drag him along to Sebastian’s right side, the harpy creeping up on his left.

            “Easy now,” Cosette said in a sing-song whisper, her breath hot on Ciel’s ear as she dropped her chin to his shoulder. “You wouldn’t want me to break him, would you?”

            “You do and you _die_ , you bitch,” Sebastian returned, smoke pouring off of his trembling frame as Cosette and the harpy circled him. Cosette jutted out a lip in a feigned expression of hurt, fanning her eyelashes like a pouting child.

            “How crude! Well, we’ll certainly have to take care of that attitude, won’t we?”

            By this time, the harpy was blocking the stairwell and Cosette was dragging Ciel methodically across the Persian rug, Sebastian slowly moving after them. Once they had reached the center of the rug, Cosette threw Ciel to the floor as if she were discarding an unwanted toy and stepped back. Immediately, Sebastian dropped to one knee, cradling Ciel to his chest.

            “Are you alright?” he asked, pressing a hand to the earl’s cheek. Nearby, Cosette scoffed in disgust as she returned to Maeve’s side. The blonde watched impassively, stepping onto the rug. Immediately, Sebastian stood with Ciel in his arms, his body tensing as he made to leap out of her way, but as he moved he seemed to collide with an invisible wall. He snarled as bright pink arcs of lightning crested out of the circumference of the rug and hissed as it contacted with his skin.

            Ciel landed roughly on his knees beside the rug, watching as Sebastian fell to the floor. Bright welts had broken out over his face, but were quickly fading. He reached out for Ciel, only to have his fingertips come into contact with another bright pink bolt of electricity. Ciel, however, had felt absolutely nothing and scrambled back onto the rug at Sebastian’s side.

            “What—?”

            “My, you really should know of the oldest trick in the book,” Cosette laughed, her giggles sounding like a wind chime thrashing around in a storm.  She knelt by the side of the rug and flipped back an amount of it, exposing in part what appeared to be the same sigil that Sieglinde had used to return Sebastian to the form of a giant raven. Instantly, the color drained from Sebastian’s face and he held Ciel close.

            “Whatever you do, don’t leave the circle,” he warned Ciel.

            “Why?” the earl hissed back as Maeve finally approached them, stepping into the circumference of the sigil.

            “They’ve used my own seal against me. Now that I’ve stepped into it, I cannot leave until it is broken,” he explained, shielding Ciel with his body as best as possible. He placed the earl behind him once more, flexing his claws as Maeve stopped in front of them. She stared at Sebastian evenly, extending a hand. He looked at her claws suspiciously, issuing a choking noise as Cosette appeared behind Ciel once more and dragged him out of the protection of the circle, forcing him to his knees with nothing but pressure on his shoulders.

            “Malphas,” Maeve said sweetly.

            Sebastian struck.

            He was nothing but a dark lance of mist in the moment, immediately entangling with Maeve as the succubus lashed out with claws of her own. She grasped at a solidified chunk of flesh, wrenching her claws around Sebastian’s wrist in a circle. She staggered as he collided with her, but managed to step out of the circle and fall gracefully to one knee next to Ciel, whose shoulders Cosette was leaning on, effectively pinning him. Sebastian coalesced back into a solid form – that of the prince dressed in dark armor, cape-like wings dripping with black smoke as he shrieked inhumanly and surged against the barrier, claws flailing ineffectively against the crackling energy.

            “Now then,” Maeve reached into her high-necked overcoat and extracted a thin little red book, gracefully pressing her fingertips dirtied with Sebastian’s blood into the front page.

            Instantly, Ciel’s chest was overcome with pressure, like the onslaught of an asthma attack. He succumbed under the press of Cosette’s hands, and bracing himself on his forearms, began to hack onto the wooden floor. Liquid caught his lips as he sputtered and coughed, and for a quick moment was able to catch his breath. Dizzy, he opened his eyes and stared down on a dark spot on the floor below him.

            Black.

            For a moment, the earl was certain that he’d managed to cough up dark blood, but the taste pervading his palate was something very different. It did not taste sharp and metallic, but old, bitter, and deep.

            Not blood.

            Ink.

            Without warning, pain shot through his eye like hot lead. The earl reeled, as if struck, his head connecting roughly with the wood grain of the floor, fingers clawing as the pain wormed its way into his stomach. He opened his mouth to cough, but ended up violently retching, his mouth completely overtaken by the tang of ink as he vomited it out between his forearms. He felt the pressure on his shoulders let up as Cosette backed away from him with a disgusted squeal. Ciel fell to the floor, rolling onto his back as he writhed and his chest heaved violently.

            His marked eye throbbed madly, as if it had come alive with a pulse of its own, something within struggling to escape as his palm crushed over it, filling it with a handful of the warm, stinging ink. The pain fought back into his skull, crashing and swelling violently within his head before constricting. It then shot down his spine, liquid hot metal, and Ciel arched off of the floor, gasping violently as ink continued to gurgle up from his throat and leak from his eyes, filling him with the stale flavor as his feet and hands twitched violently, bound by the electric ribbons of stinging heat.

            And as soon as it had begun, it was over. The bindings loosened their grip and dropped him onto the floor like a toy— discarded and numb. Something like lead and cotton was filling his limbs as he coughed out the remainder of the ink and lay there, spread-eagled and dumfounded. His vision was spinning, the world slowly coming into focus as he rolled onto his side and coughed.

            Maeve looked down upon Ciel with a vaguely pleased expression before turning to Sebastian, who was sitting motionless within the confines of his sigil. His wings were fanned out around him, as if he had been beating them violently a moment before. Ink seeped out from beneath the light gauntlet of his marked hand, mouth dripping with the dark viscous liquid. He was staring pointedly somewhere between Ciel and Maeve’s feet, eyes not quite seeing.

            The succubus turned towards him and annunciated, very clearly: “Malphas, you are to never do any harm, bodily or mentally, to myself, Cosette, or the harpy. That is an order.”

            The demon jerked, clutching his marked hand to his chest as his eyes began to glow electric violet. He curled around the appendage, glaring up at Maeve through the veil of his dark bangs.

            “Is that understood?” Maeve inquired.

            “Yes,” Sebastian grit out.

            “You are to no longer take any orders from this human boy right here. Tell me you understand.”

            Sebastian jerked again, eyes glowing in outright fury. “ _Yes_ ,” he all but snarled.

            Ciel finally pulled himself to his knees, staring at Maeve in disbelief.

            “You are to no longer ever exchange words with him,” the succubus commanded. “Do you understand?”

            “Yes.”

            “What,” Ciel coughed a little, finally drawing Maeve’s attention. The succubus looked down upon him, her face impassive. “What’re you —?”

            Cosette’s shrill laughter interrupted him again as the woman came into view. She dropped down beside Sebastian, wrapping her arms around him like one might embrace a beloved pet. She snuggled into his feathers, grey eyes alight with wicked amusement. “You stupid boy,” she giggled. “You really don’t understand, do you?”

            Still reeling, Ciel’s eyes fell onto Maeve, who smiled gently, settling a hand onto Sebastian’s head and pressing it to rest against her thigh.

            “Malphas belongs to me now,” she explained. “You _both_ do.”


	21. Erysimum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, have a chapter early! Here's the final chapter of part two of the story, and the last of the story that we have written. As such, The Sum of Our Parts is now on hiatus. Thank you all for your kind words and support!

_“Well, let them seize on all they can; –_

_One treasure still is mine, –_

_A heart that loves to think on thee,_

_And feels the worth of thine.”_

– Anne Brontë

            “Well then,” Maeve said calmly, threading her fingers through Sebastian’s hair. “Now that we finally have things settled, we might as well have some fun.”

            Cosette’s girlish smile became something perfectly vile, her eyes widening with excitement as she tightened her grip on the demon. “Oh Maeve, you promised that I’d get to rip that _thing_ from him.”

            Sebastian snarled again and Maeve looked down upon him impassively. “Quiet,” she ordered, and he was immediately silenced, staring up at her with a look of utmost loathing.

            Ciel began to scramble backwards, shaking hands seeking the holster of his revolver. There was a ruffling of wings and he glanced up to find that the harpy was looming over him from behind, his reflection shimmering back at him in the creature’s single milky eye.

            “Oh, don’t kill him just yet,” Maeve said softly. “Just imagine the sort of things we could have Malphas do to him. It would be unfair to end everything so quickly —.”

            Maeve was cut off by the dull sound of someone flopping over onto the floor. Immediately, the eyes of each member of the room were drawn to one of the silver-framed mirrors that lined the ballroom. They stood in stunned silence as Eugene picked himself up, having managed to trip over the frame of the mirror and effectively tumble into the room.

            “ _What_?” Maeve said, clearly perplexed and aghast.

            “Tha’— yes I certainly meant to do tha’,” Eugene laughed and finally stood, shaking dust off of his cloak and smiling around at the occupants of the room, waving in a friendly manner. “Hullo!”

            “Eugene?” Ciel finally managed to say, certain that he was hallucinating before he remembered the mirror from the lodge.

            “Oh my,” Cosette said softly, blinking owlishly. “He’s very handsome.”

            “ _Idiot_ ,” Maeve snarled, raising a clawed hand and dashing towards Eugene. The reaper reached into his cloak and extracted his scythe just in time to bar her attack. Surging forward, he pushed her away and advanced, ducking down to pick Ciel up around the hips and – throwing a hand behind him to touch his wrist to the glass –tipped backwards into the mirror.

            Using his body as a cushion for Ciel, they landed roughly on the floor. Immediately, Eugene set the earl aside and stood, using the end of the scythe to shatter the mirror that they had come through. The earl rolled over onto his knees, chest heaving as he sputtered and spat out the remainder of the ink. The floor was grey tile, sloping softly into a little drain in the middle of the ground. Cuffing away the dark fluid, he looked up to observe their surroundings.

            The mirror they had tripped through was clearly an observational one, stretching out along the wall of a morgue. Settled before it was a raised marble slab used for autopsies with the opposing wall occupying a row of sinks and several anatomical models. Glass fronted cabinets showcased rows of glinting tools, each more horrifying and mystifying than the last.

            “Well this is a bi’ nostalgic!” Eugene commented brightly, returning his weapon to hiding. Navigating carefully, he stepped through the pieces of broken glass, errant shards crunching underfoot. Standing before the earl, he extended a hand.

            Ciel paused a moment, still too shaken to truly process the world around him.

            “Poppet?” the reaper intoned, just barely catching the other’s attentions. “Care t’ stand, love? We should really get a move on.”

            “Y-yeah,” Ciel nodded, taking Eugene’s hand and letting himself be pulled to his feet. He was surprised by the strength in the other man’s grip, coupled by the tenderness with which he was led. His neck and wrist still hurt from where Cosette had bruised him, and already unsightly purpling marks had begun to blossom on his skin. “Where are we?” he asked unsteadily.

            “I ‘aven’t the faintest,” the reaper shrugged.

            “What do you mean you –,” the earl snapped, looking about. “Are we in the human world or not?”

            “Oh?” Eugene lilted. “Someone’s let you in on the mirrors, ‘aven’t they? Was it Malphas?”

            “It was Sieglinde, really,” Ciel returned testily. “But how can you not know where we are? You’re a reaper – shouldn’t you know better than anyone?”

            “Well it’s no’ as if I’ve memorized every route,” the mortician frowned. “I mean, can you ‘onestly say you’ve got down the entire map o’ London? It’s like tha’ – nobody knows where everythin’ connects.”

            “So are you saying,” the younger grit out. “That you took a _gamble_?”

            “Well in my defense, anywhere was better than where we were,” Eugene pointed out. “It was only luck tha’ I found you in time.”

            “ _In time_?” Ciel repeated icily. “In time for _what_!? Certainly not for Sebastian to be… to be _hurt_ by those absolute _wretches_! He can’t –!”

            “I’m sorry, love,” the reaper interjected softly. “I came as soon as I could an’ I didn’t know ‘ow to reach you. When I found ou’ abou’ the contract bein’ changed, I rushed straight back t’ the lodge. The others told me abou’ the letter an’ tha’ you were ‘eadin’ to Bath. I tried, poppet, but at least I –.”

            “Take. Me. Back.”

            “Ciel?”

            “Take me back _now_ ,” the earl ordered.

            “I can’t really –.”

            “NOW, Eugene!” Ciel barked, ignoring the other man’s helpless gesturing toward the shattered mirror. “If you can find your way there once you can do it again. Take me back.”

            “I don’t really think tha’ –.”

            “So what?” Ciel stormed on. “You’d rather just leave him there? Where he can’t even fight?”

            “He’ll be –.”

            “They’ll _kill him_ if we don’t –!”

            “Ciel.”

            “I thought you _loved him_!”

            “Ciel!”

            “Well I won’t leave him! I’m not about to just le –.”

            “ _Ciel,_ ” Eugene cut in, taking the earl by the shoulders and giving him a little shake. “I know you’re upset but you’ve got t’ calm down. One thing a’ a time, love. And… let’s try t’ keep our voices down, yeah? We still don’t know where we are.”

            The younger sent him a scathing glance but quieted, breaking from the reaper’s grip. Overwhelmed by anxiety he began to pace in tight circles, turning about the autopsy table. He still felt queasy from his vomiting fit, and the vision in his right eye was somewhat blurred – he had to wonder if his sclera was stained blue-black from the ink. He felt disgusting, clothes dampened from sweat and unnatural sick. Between the coughing and the yelling, his chest was feeling tight, making it hard to breathe.

            “Ciel,” the mortician repeated, voice more concerned than admonishing. “Ciel, you’ve got t’ calm down. I know it’s ‘ard, but you’re ‘avin’ an episode.” Holding his hands aloft to show he meant no harm, he approached the earl and halted him in his steps, gently straightening his posture. “Breathe, love,” he whispered.

            Ciel nodded, trying to steady his breathing, willing his lungs to loosen in his chest. They burned and felt too constricted. Still, he couldn’t stem his thoughts, and he found himself coughing all over again, wheezing through his inhales.

            Eugene made a soft sound, wiping at the earl’s face. Tears – the reaper wasn’t sure if they were from pain or from fear – had pricked at the other’s eyes, spilling down his cheeks. “Keep breathin’,” he instructed lowly. “Follow me, righ’? Follow me. Breathe in,” he waited a few beats, imitating the action. “An’ breathe out,” he exhaled.

            Ciel whimpered, nodding to show he understood. Slowly they worked through the routine, trying again and again until the earl finally was able to breathe with some manner of ease. “Please,” he begged weakly, trying not to exacerbate his asthma all over again. “Please, I have to go back, Eugene. I have to help him.”

            “We’ll ‘elp ‘im,” the undertaker promised, leading him from the chilly morgue. “I promise. But first we need t’ get you ou’ o’ ‘ere – this cold is only goin’ t’ make your asthma worse. Tha’ needs t’ be taken care o’ first.”

            The earl nodded, shakily following the reaper as he maneuvered them along a paved hallway. It sloped gently upwards, angled light glaring into their eyes from the small window set into a massive door ahead. _‘This is where they bring the bodies,’_ Ciel realized dully. _’That must mean…’_

            “We’re in the basement of a hospital, I think,” he spoke up, voice scratchy. “It must be a big one, at that.”

            “We’re in luck, then,” Eugene sighed in relief. “Seems we’re still in the Mortal Realm: Whitechapel, I’d say.”

            “The Royal London Hospital?” Ciel queried. “We’re back in London?”

            “Believe so,” the other confirmed, reaching the crest of the hallway and peering through the door into the street beyond. “Shall we –?”

            Ciel set on him before he could finish, yanking at one of his billowy sleeves and forcing him to turn around. “Hold on,” he cut in lowly. “Don’t think I’m just going to happily go off gallivanting with you. Answers first.”

            “Answers?” Eugene repeated blinkingly. Seeing the resolve in the other’s expression, he sighed, settling himself against a bricked wall. “I see there’s no doin’ anythin’ until you’ve ‘ad your say. Wha’ is it?”

            “First of all, how did you get through that mirror?”

            “Back in Bath?”

            “Yes! We set about the one in the lodge for days with nothing to show for it. Even Sebastian…” he cut off, unable to dwell too long on the demon. “Don’t tell me you can just use it without effort because you’re a reaper.”

            “Not at all!” Eugene assured, grinning slightly. Shaking the fabric from his wrist he revealed a corded bracelet, a small silver charm dangling from it. “This let me through,” he explained. “It ‘as the sigil on it necessary t’ activate the mirror system. Just makes things convenient.”

            “Do all reapers have those?” Ciel asked, eyeing the jewelry critically. “Can anyone use those?”

            “Well I suppose anyone _could_ use ‘em,” the mortician hummed. “But they’re a bit ‘ard t’ come by. Mostly only those folks on Dispatch ‘ave ‘em. Thankfully I still ‘ad mine since before I went int’ retirement.”

            “Retirement?” Ciel balked. “Wasn’t that like… fifty years ago?”

            “Yes?”

            “You know, it doesn’t matter,” the younger shook his head. “You said you didn’t know where the mirrors connected to, right? But you must know some of them, enough to successfully land in Bath. So how –.”

            “We’re not goin’ back,” Eugene countered firmly.

            “But Sebastian –!”

            “Would want you ‘ere,” the reaper finished for him. “Would want you safe – you an’ your li’le one,” he nodded purposefully.

            Ciel squirmed and hid his midsection. “He wouldn’t abandon us,” he returned venomously. “I’m not about to do the same to him.”

            “We’re not leavin’ ‘im for dead, Ciel, you’ve got t’ understand tha’,” Eugene sighed. “We just ‘ave t’ take this slowly. This contract business ‘as been planned out since the third,” he recounted, pulling out the little red book that held the earl’s modified contract. “Take a look for yourself.”

            Ciel took it, flipping through the scant pages and scanning the contents. Eugene held his breath, certain that this time, for sure, the younger man would see the evidence clearly put before him. _‘It says ‘Cecil’, not ‘Ciel’,_ ’ he thought worriedly. _‘Am I really ready to talk this one out?’_ He was almost relieved when, having read the contract three times over, the earl turned in anger towards him.

            “Explain this,” he ordered, brandishing the completed contract. “How did this happen?”

            “I only just found out,” the other assured slowly, feeling he had dodged a rather uncomfortable bullet. “I wouldn’ ‘ave let this go on, especially not if I were in charge o’ the Library again. But I’m not,” he sighed with frustration. “An’ now all the organization and the record keepin’ ‘as gone to shit. Reapers these days don’t notice when contracts go screwy. Wouldn’t ‘ave been able to find this one, even, if that succubus ‘adn’t gone an’ murdered the librarian on staff.

            “Tha’ Maeve? She must ‘ave used the mirrors to get down there. Once in, all she ‘ad to do really was to bribe or threaten our poor victim, an’, well… as you saw, she needed blood t’ seal the deal. Tha’s why the ink in the book is red now.”

            “You mean…” Ciel recoiled, looking back to the page. The writing was too dark for colored ink. “This is Sebastian’s blood? I saw her with a book like this, only briefly, and then she ran his blood over the page…”

            “Tha’s precisely wha’ it is,” Eugene confirmed grimly. “An’ there isn’t much tha’ can be done abou’ it, I’m afraid. Not now tha’ it’s sealed, anyway.”

            “Then how –!?”

            “Ah, ah, I wasn’t finished,” the older admonished lightly. “A workin’ contract can ‘ardly be amended, for good or bad. ‘Owever, _absolvin’_ a contract is a different matter altogether. It’s no’ easy,” he warned, “but it can be done.”

            “So if we free him from the new contract, he’ll be able to attack them again?” Ciel asked, looking for confirmation.

            “Yes,” Eugene nodded. “But as I said, it’s no’ easy. We’ll ‘ave to get a different book for it, and likely some sort o’ writin’ implement. A special one, I mean. Let’s see, there’s the rubbers an’ the bookmarks…” he trailed off thoughtfully. “We’ll probably ‘ave to pay someone important a visit,” he settled ambiguously.

            “You _will_ do this?” the earl questioned. “No funny business – you’ll actually help him? Help me?”

            “Of course!” the reaper exclaimed, slightly indignant. “I… I know you’ve li’le reason t’ trust me, Ciel,” he admitted. “I’ve been ‘orrible these past few years. I’ve a lot t’ make up for, an’ not just t’ you. I’ve not done righ’ by a lot o’ people. I know my word can’t mean much, but I give it t’ you all the same: I will protect the both o’ you t’ the best o’ my ability.”

            “I just don’t get it,” Ciel narrowed his eyes. “Why do you care _now_? It’s an awfully funny time, don’t you think? All this while and suddenly you’ve just given up on your insane chase? You decide to turn over a new leaf? Why?”

            “Because it’s time tha’ I –.”

            “What?” Ciel interrupted. “Do what’s most convenient for you?” he accused. “This has nothing to even do with me, does it? You’re only doing any of this – only getting along with us – because it gets you in good with Sebastian. You’re just appeasing him to get what you want, what matters most to you. This isn’t change; it’s just another form of selfishness.”

            Eugene didn’t speak for a moment, obviously wounded and at a loss for what to say. “I… you’re probably right, yes,” he admitted softly. “A lot o’ wha’ I ‘ave done ‘as been selfish. I’m probably being selfish now. Bu’ I _am_ trying, Ciel. I’m trying t’ respect what Malphas would want, keepin’ you safe ‘ere. I’m tryin’ t’ respect you – your autonomy, your decisions. An’ I’m tryin’ t’ do wha’ your father asked o’ me as one o’ ‘is closest friends.

            “An’ maybe it’s all selfish o’ me in the end anyway, because I don’t want t’ keep living with all these regrets and failures. I want t’ be a better person, and so you could say tha’ all these choices directly benefit me. But I’m also tryin’ t’ do these things for the right reasons.”

            It was Ciel’s turn to be quiet, contemplating what he had been told. “I suppose I could say I’m just as guilty, then. This whole situation, all of it came down to my being selfish and petty. I can’t fault you for flaws I also possess but I… I’m not sure how much I can trust you right now, either,” he said truthfully. “And that aside, I’m… I have been… jealous. Of the both of you.”

            “Jealous?” Eugene cocked his head. “But why?”

            “Because!” the earl exclaimed. “Because you chose to be together, because it seems like you’re actually friends. I know he loves you and that eats at me like nothing else in this world. He’s told me that being with multiple people doesn’t mean your love is different or less and I appreciate that, but I can’t help but think that he’s happier with you and just trying to do right by me. That he got put into this situation, this relationship, and is just sticking by it. I… I mean I know that he does care for me on some level, but I don’t want to tear him away from what really makes him happy. Even if means I’m miserable or alone, I guess.”

            Again tears were beading on his lashes and he cuffed them away with a stained sleeve. “Sebastian and I are starting from an entirely different place. I’ve been his employer far longer than I’ve been his… his _lover_ … and even at that I’m only just getting to learn anything about him. And you… you’re someone who has a chance to actually understand him, to empathize with him. You’re not human, not weak: you’re someone that can keep pace with him – hell, even Agni seems like a better partner for Sebastian than me!

            “What do I possibly have to provide? I’m just some petty human earl. I’ve had everything handed to me all my life, no matter how shit it has been. I’ve never really learned to do anything practical, anything of use. Whereas he… he knows _everything_. And you’ve been around long enough, I suspect, to be able to be intellectually stimulating to him in turn.

            “Then there’s this whole situation about our daughter, and… and I’m entirely out of my depth already. I want to keep her, but it’s all for selfish reasons, I accept that. But why would Sebastian want anything to do with me? With her? Just because of being honorable? He must know that a large part of her raising will be put on him – not that I want it that way, but I don’t know how to care for a baby yet and there’s the whole prospect of having to run my company and keep up all these damned social appearances. I can’t even give him a proper family!

            “And then… then there’s you. He just seems so open when it comes to you. He doesn’t have all these burdens or responsibilities or stresses when it comes to you. And I just… I trust him, I really do, please don’t get me wrong, but I’m afraid I’m barring him from being happy. I… I just don’t want him to resent me. No matter how much I need him or want him by my side… I… fuck…” he choked out, trying desperately to ebb the flow of tears. “I must look like a fool about now. A childish, petty fool.”

            “Poppet…” Eugene hushed, drawing the hiccupping earl close and wrapping him in a consoling embrace. “Now I certainly can’t speak for Mal – Sebastian – but I can guarantee you tha’ ‘e loves you very much. ‘E’s made it more than clear t’ me tha’ you come first t’ ‘im. There’s no… competition, nothin’ like tha’. You do make ‘im ‘appy an’ you certainly do challenge ‘im,” he added with a small laugh. “More than you know. Thank you for entrustin’ me with this, love. Tha’ bein’ said, you really ought t’ talk this ou’ wi’ ‘im. ‘E needs t’ know ‘ow you’re feelin’ and where you need reassurances. I know the way things ‘appened weren’t ideal but you do seem t’ love each other – don’t botch it now by not talkin’ t’ one another.”

            “Right,” Ciel nodded, drying off his blotchy face. “You’re right. And to do that, we need to do what we can to get Sebastian back. We’ve wasted too much time with bullocks here.”

            “It was important,” the reaper countered kindly, letting the earl step away from him. “Don’t ever think there isn’t time for your feelings.” Deliberating a moment, he reached into the folds of his cloak, seeming to pull a swath of fabric from some oversized pocket. “Here you are,” he smiled nostalgically, settling the smaller cloak over Ciel’s shoulders. “This used t’ be your father’s. As you’ll find, it’s a bit more impressive than it looks. Keep it on you ‘til I say it’s safe t’ take it off, alright?”

            Ciel nodded in understanding, grabbing at the iron ring of the door and hauling it open. The light and bustle from the London roads beyond overwhelmed him, and, ducking into the fading afternoon, he progressed onto the street. Eugene followed, shooting him an encouraging smile. “Come along now,” he urged, taking them along the side of the hospital to emerge on Whitechapel Road.

            In moments he had hailed a carriage, shielding his younger companion as the hooves of the bay horses kicked up dirty water. The driver hopped down from the box, chatting with the reaper quickly and pocketing what looked like a decent size of change. The earl clambered into the vestige without waiting for the other man, drawing the proffered blankets onto his lap.

            “Where are we going, then?” Ciel asked as the cabby shut the door behind the mortician.

            “Up the frog an’ toad t’ where th’ John Lew’s used to be,” Eugene explained, pushing back the velvet curtains to glance out the window, green eyes darting this way and that. “There’s a shop front right there; that’s where we’re lookin’ for.”

            Ciel scowled, slumping into his seat in exhaustion as he arranged and rearranged his blankets, shuffling heavily. Though the knot of anxiety twisted within his chest had been considerably alleviated, it was still harshly present, squeezing upon his heart with brute force and causing it to shudder violently. The reaper opposite him began to pick though his pockets and spread the contents over the cushions beside him. Trinkets spilled over the seat ranging from silver lockets to pewter cats, vials filled with tiny rolls of paper and suspicious liquids, and finally a stiff parchment card. Clicking his tongue, the man began to pocket his belongings.

            Quicker than Ciel had expected, the carriage was drawn to a halt, the horses whinnying softly as cabby called out a gentle “woah”.

            “That’ll be our stop, then,” said the mortician, kicking open the nearest door with a sense of urgency that startled the earl and would have sent the poor cabby flying if the man had not sprang from the door’s path.

            The tall man hopped out of the carriage, offering a scarred hand to him for assistance. The earl reluctantly accepted the outstretched appendage and climbed from the vestige, allowing Eugene to adjust he hood of the cloak over his face.

            “Now then,” he began, clapping his hands over the earl’s shoulders. “I need you to keep tha’ mantle on a’ all times, and try not t’say anythin’. If you see anyone you recognize, don’ show your face. Right then?”

            “Fair enough,” Ciel agreed, far too anxious and fatigued to argue against the reaper’s demands. Eugene clasped his hands together, nodding decisively.

            “Excellent,” he declared, guiding Ciel gently towards their destination. “Now then, if you would —.”

            “Eugene,” Ciel interrupted quickly as he stared at the storefront. It was a tiny shop set at the head of an abandoned department store, the latter’s windows boarded up in wood from years of misuse. Through the windows, rows upon rows of fresh fudge, peppermints, tiny cakes, and Funtom candies peeked back innocently. “This is a candy shop.”

            Eugene turned towards Ciel, his mouth a confused line. For a moment, the earl spotted the flutter of blinking lashes behind his bangs. “Yes?”

            “Why,” Ciel began, reaching up to massage his temple. “In the name of God are we going into a candy shop?”

            The mortician did not respond with anything more than a soft, mysterious chuckle before he urged Ciel on towards the candy shop.

            The nauseating scent of chocolate and sugar hit Ciel full force as soon as the two entered the confectionary shop, Eugene looking awfully misplaced amongst the bright colors and candies. Young people — whose hands were closed around trussed-up boxes filled to the brim with chocolates — shied away from the oddly-dressed man who stunk of embalming fluid and his companion who was clothed in a similarly-suspicious manner. The two fought towards the front of the shop, weaving inelegantly through the crowd.

            There, a slender young woman was standing behind the counter, adjusting her glasses with a bored expression upon her face. Eugene offered her the stiff parchment card. The cashier received it, unphased by their odd appearances, and dropped her golden-green eyes upon the text there. They suddenly widened and she glanced up towards Eugene.

            “I’m interested in speaking to the manager,” he said conversationally, drumming his long fingernails on the counter. The young woman gagged, blushed, and sputtered, gesturing for the tall man and his companion to follow her behind the counter where she groped around her pocket and extracted a silver key.

            “I-it’s a pleasure to have you back, Mister Fehr,” she whispered, bowing deeply as she opened the door. Ciel cast a curious glance at Eugene, but the white-haired man seemed just as confused himself.

            They then slipped through the door into a long, narrow hallway accented by elegant candelabrums and two simple doors that were opened to reveal a supply closet and storage room. However, the door at the end of the hall was a deep shade of green, the knob heavily polished brass. Hands shaking, the young woman slipped the key into the lock and the door swung open.

            A lavish lobby decorated in shades of deep red and brushed brass fixtures sprawled out before them. A young man seated at a dark-wooded desk before a grand fireplace sprang to attention as the two entered, nervously adjusting his glasses.

            “M-Mister Fehr!” he cried, face lighting up bright red as he crossed the highly-polished floor towards them. “I dare say it’s been quite a while. What brings you here today, you couldn’t have possibly heard so quickly about the —.”

            The words died from the brunet’s mouth as he sniffed the air, narrowed green eyes landing upon Ciel as the receptionist’s lips curled back into a curt smile. Ciel lowered his gaze immediately as he assumed anonymity.

            “A demon,” the other reaper said flatly. “And here I thought you were done with demons, Mister Fehr —.”

            His words died in his throat, becoming a strangled squeak as Eugene seized his tie, pulling him close to his face as his grin grew to insane measures, something dark and positively threatening dashing over his eyes as his bangs spilled to the side.

            “Do you ‘ave any children, Elijah?” he asked darkly, giving the tie a swift pop. The receptionist made a low, horrified noise in the back of his throat, brow already beginning to gleam with sweat as his face reddened.

            “Y-yes; I have a little girl named Morgan, she’s only four years old —,” he began, but was quickly silenced as the mortician swiftly released him, shoving him back towards the desk with the tips of his fingers.

            “Be sure to tell your poppet a bedtime story tonight, Elijah,” he directly coolly, smoothing down the front of his robes. “And thank her.”

            Elijah nodded, quickly dashing the cuff of his wrist over his brow before settling back behind his desk. He glared at Ciel warily before producing a black ostrich plume quill and thick guest book from the drawers.

            “We’ll need your guest to sign in. Print your name and the date and sign beside them. I’ll remind you that the procedures concerning emergency situations are in full effect – guests are currently only allowed entry to the upper floors and should be appropriately checked into each floor as well.”

            He thrust the plume at Ciel, scoffing just loud enough to hear as their fingertips brushed, wiping them with great vigor on the front of his blazer. After glancing around for an ink pot, Ciel stared down at the blank page, learning that the two other guests before him had signed in glossy red ink. Wincing, the earl raised the sharp tip of the quill to his wrist just as Eugene snatched it from his possession and drove the tip into his own finger, handing the loaded quill back to Ciel.

            “You can’t do that, sir,” the brunet replied flatly as Ciel scribbled down a pseudonym alongside the date. “It must be written in the demon’s blood for —.”

            “My friend ‘as a very fragile reaction t’ metals, so I’m afraid my blood’ll ‘ave to do,” Eugene waved his hand distantly, sliding the bloodied book towards the receptionist. “Thank you for your time, Elijah.”

            “Of course, Mister Fehr,” the other nodded, settling down into his seat as Eugene slipped an arm around Ciel, guiding him through a set of double doors.

            “A demon?” Ciel repeated Elijah’s words as they advanced through the dark halls, a set of young workers nodding to them in a friendly manner as the pair passed.

            “The cloak,” the tall man muttered in reply as they turned sharply down another hallway, this one lined with several abnormally high doors through which Ciel spotted neat lines of bespectacled teens, each awkwardly gripping a lawn tool in his or her hands.

            “These are the reaper headquarters, aren’t they?” Ciel asked, turning his eyes onto Eugene.

            “The mortal side of campus, at least,” Eugene confirmed softly as they twisted around yet another corner, this one leading to a crowded hall. Again, they went down a flight of stairs, this one flanked by a reaper, who seemed to be waiting there anxiously. He started upon recognizing Eugene, rushing up to his side.

            “You need to get out of here,” he said. “Eric’s waiting on Mirror Side.”

            “Alan, ’ave you been here all day?” Eugene asked, looking sincerely concerned.

            The brunet nodded – he looked positively horrible. There were deep bags under his eyes and he was shaking slightly.

            “It doesn’t matter, Laraux’s back and he’s not happy you’ve been in the library,” Alan informed him. “He’s already causing a huge fuss about it. If he finds out you’ve come back to HQ —.”

            “What’s ‘e got on his mind?” Eugene asked. Alan sighed, glancing around nervously.

            “He thinks you’re involved in the murder,” the younger reaper admitted, eyes shining with concern. “Here, let me fetch Eric.”

            He turned towards the massive set of doors he was waiting in front of, sliding through the little crack that he’d opened. It was an ornate set of double doors carved from redwood – they were most obviously ancient, their worn surfaces depicting aged carvings of runes and pictures of hooded figures wielding scythes amongst tiny orbs. Moments later, they swung open again, this time revealing Alan and another reaper – this one blonde with half his hair braided back.

            “Follow us, please,” Alan said, urging them through. Ciel stepped through the door and immediately felt a wave of vertigo, nearly tripping into Eugene – this must have been one of the magical doorways that Sieglinde had mentioned, hence the sudden shift in gravity. Even though they had been alone in the hallway, a steady stream of reapers were pouring into the doors around them, each obviously headed home for the evening.

            The hall beyond was covered in rows of square pillars, each decked on all four sides with a tall, slender mirror. Reapers grasping death scythes were stepping through these, Ciel overhearing snippets of conversation as Alan and Eric guided them past. Most seemed upset at having caught the graveyard shift, others excited for assignments.

            Suddenly, Eugene swore and ducked behind one of the pillars. Ciel stared after him, perplexed. The reaper ducked his head down, quickly flipping up his hood and staring down at his feet. Another reaper was jogging up to Alan and Eric, waving in a friendly manner. A mechanical death scythe was slung over one of his shoulders, bouncing against it in a cumbersome manner. Although it had been six years, Ciel instantly recognized him from the Campania.

            “‘Ello Eric, Alan!” he greeted his coworkers cheerfully, bowing his head to reveal black undertones beneath the blonde as he tipped his skewed glasses back into place.

            “Ronnie,” Eric nodded towards his junior, still displaying an ever-professional appearance. His eyes twitched anxiously towards Eugene, unsure of what the reaper was hiding his countenance for. “We’re in kind of a hurry, so —.”

            “I just heard what’s going on – it’s bullocks that you two got busted,” Ronnie groaned, tipping his head towards the side in exasperation. “You don’t think they’ll demote you back to Dispatch? I mean, Hugo wouldn’t stand for it. Dispatch is such shit; I can’t wait to just get _out_. I mean the other departments borrow us for all sorts of nonsense _all the time_. Like today, that ass Laraux had a handful of guys from Dispatch down there combing the shelves for any more missing volumes. Can you believe it?”

            “That’s horrible,” Alan said with as much sympathy as he could muster. “But Ronald, we really must –.”

            But it was too late, Ronald had already taken notice of Ciel and Eugene, smiling at them pleasantly despite their more-than-obvious hoods.

            “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize you two were on the job, you’re usually going home about now,” he thrust his hand towards Ciel in a friendly manner, “Don’t believe we’ve met! I’m Ronald Knox.”

            “Ronnie, that’s –,” Eric began, holding his hands out in warning, only to drop them when Ciel took the reaper’s hand, shaking it kindly.

            “It’s a pleasure,” Ciel returned evenly, not about to let his odd behavior draw any more attention. Ronnie turned to Eugene, shaking his hand as well.

            “Pleasure,” the mortician smiled, although it looked strained. The younger reaper pursed his lips, brow furrowing as he struggled to place a name to his face.

            “Have – have we met before?” Ronald asked, tilting his head to the side.

            “Ron,” Alan attempted to intervene before Eric threw an arm around the younger’s shoulders, steering him towards one of the mirrors.

            “Damn, I am _parched_ ,” he said enthusiastically. “You know, mirror 3H leads to a pretty decent pub in Knightsbridge. I’m on my way home, so I’ll grab us some drinks. Meet up with us there when you’re done, okay Darling?” he concluded, glancing over his shoulder at Alan, who smothered a blush with a terse look and nodded in fervent agreement.

            “It was nice meeting you!” Ronald said over his shoulder as Eric steered them away. Ciel felt his shoulders droop in relaxation as soon as they had disappeared into a nearby pillar.

            “Close,” Eugene mumbled, finally dropping his hood. Alan turned towards him, shaking his head slightly.

            “I don’t know what that was about, but we need to hurry and get you out of here before Laraux finds out,” the brunet said, gesturing for the pair to follow him. As they maneuvered through the hall of mirrors, Ciel turned towards Eugene.

            “Where is he taking us?” he inquired under his breath. Eugene shrugged.

            “I don’ know, but ‘s somewhere safe,” the reaper responded as they rounded a corner. “One of my dear friends entrusted them to aid me when I was lookin’ in to your contract – I knew both o’ their parents back before I was retired.”

            “Can you really trust him?” Ciel jerked his head towards Alan. “That other reaper nearly recognized you; surely you’re wanted for what happened on the Campania?”

            Eugene hushed Ciel as Alan glanced at them over his shoulder.

            “You’re aware of the Living Corpses case?” he asked, looking mildly impressed. He then drooped a little, shaking his head. “That thing’s a mess since it concerns several different departments. We certainly could use the aid of someone like you, Mister Fehr. My mother always spoke very highly of the way you helped to organize Headquarters…”

            Ciel and Eugene winced in the onslaught of irony, the reaper giving Ciel a pleading look. The earl nodded a little as they rounded the corner into a smaller hall, this one lined with more ornate mirrors, each properly labeled. Alan parked them in front of one, pulling back his blazer to reveal a bracelet similar to that Eugene wore. He touched it to the mirror, the surface rippling like a lick of wind over a reflecting pool. Ciel glanced up above the mirror, reading the inscription above: Ashcarden Hall. Before the earl had a chance to gather his bearings, there was a firm pressure on his shoulder.

            “Wait, _wait_!” he hissed, but it was too late. Eugene was already pushing Ciel through to the other side. He stumbled, righting himself by bracing his hands on his knees and taking a deep breath.

            “Ah!” a little voice cried and Ciel’s face shot up, his head still reeling as he took in his surroundings. The walls were done up in grey-blue and dressed with silvery fixtures and heavy velvet curtains of royal blue. Ciel pushed himself up to his full height, glancing around until his eyes fell upon the person who had cried out.

            “Hello?” a soft voice said from the doorway. Through it, Ciel could see a beautiful, frosted stained-glass window, the pale blue light gleaming through it illuminating the slight frame of a delicate-looking girl. She looked about Ciel’s age, dressed in a modest calico ensemble. Her eyes were the same chartreuse as all the reapers that the earl had seen earlier, but there was a glassy quality to them, and the skin around them was covered in pale, raised scars. The girl’s gaze passed over Ciel, landing somewhere over his shoulder.

            “Are you a friend of my brother’s?” she asked, pressing one hand up to the wall.

            “I –,” Ciel began, stepping back towards the mirror. Alan and Eugene followed him through, the brunet crossing the room to approach the young woman.

            “Magdalena, it’s Alan,” he said, reaching out to take her hand. She visibly relaxed, pressing a hand to her breast in relief.

            “Alan,” she repeated, smiling sweetly. “I didn’t know you were going to visit today, you gave me a fright.”

            “I’m terribly sorry, it’s a bit of an emergency,” he informed her. “NDS business. We’re providing asylum for some friends of the society. This is Eugene Fehr and his friend — uhm.”

            “I’m Ciel,” the earl introduced himself, not bothering to betray a surname. He was hesitant enough to give his first name away as it was – he didn’t trust any of the reapers that he had met, least of all Eugene, whose actions were completely perplexing to him.

            “It is a pleasure, Ciel,” she greeted him demurely as she traveled along the perimeter of the room, using the wall as a guide under her hand. Something about her polite demeanor caused Ciel to feel at ease and he crossed the room to meet the girl. She extended her hand out towards him, smiling at his throat as his hand closed around her fingers.

            “The pleasure is mine,” he replied with practiced ease.

            “And Mister Fehr?” Magdalena turned roughly towards where Eugene was standing, releasing Ciel’s hand and extending hers towards the mortician. Eugene accepted it in a light grip and bent to kiss the back of her hand.

            “Enchanted t’ meet you, poppet,” he said. The girl laughed, clearly charmed.

            “If you would be so kind as to help me to the couch?” she asked, tightening her grip around his hand. He complied, taking her arm and leading her over with a steady gait. “If you’re seeking asylum, you must be in a bit of a precarious position – I’m sorry for any trouble you’ve been through.”

            Eugene walked her to one of the couches, sitting next to her. Ciel made himself comfortable on one of the armchairs juxtapose to the one they were sitting on. Alan excused himself, returning to the mirror and stepping through. Magdalena leaned forward, her fingers brushing over the surface of the coffee table, pausing when they found the tea platter.

            “Please make yourselves comfortable,” her hands found the teapot and she began to pour a cup, staring blankly ahead at the open door. “Thankfully I was just about to have tea — how do you like yours?”

            Ciel felt a pang of guilt. Despite the grand decorum around them, it was evident that this manor knew no staff, and he felt awful about having to rely on the woman of the house to pour his tea. However, he was determined not to embarrass her, and she looked eager enough, so he replied, “Three cubes of sugar and a splash of cream, if it is no trouble.”

            “None at all,” she replied, smiling in his general direction as she searched for the sugar bowl and creamer. “And you, Mister Fehr?”

            “Cream and sugar’s quite alright f’ me, too. Thank you Miss.”

            “Oh, please don’t worry with formalities. Magdalena is quite alright,” she replied amicably, picking up the saucer and cup and holding it out towards Ciel. He reached over the coffee table, accepting the tea into his hands.

            “Thank you,” Ciel replied, sipping from his tea. It was a flavor he had no name for, but it was deep and aromatic. It was refreshing to finally be able to get the taste of stale ink out of his mouth. “Now Miss, forgive me —.”

            “Magdalena,” the brunette corrected sweetly.

            “Magdalena,” Ciel nodded, setting down his cup and saucer. “Forgive me for my inquiry, but —.”

            “What is the New Death Society?” Magdalena filled in politely, groping around for the tea set and beginning to fix Eugene a cup. “My older brother and his fiancée are co-founders. In the past hundred years or so, there’s been an unfavorable overhaul of the bureaucracy, focusing more on ease and money than running a government. The New Death Society seeks to correct that.”

            Ciel glanced at Eugene, but found him staring at Magdalena with rapt attention.

            “Then why are you helping us?” Ciel asked.

            “Well,” Magdelena continued, handing Eugene his finished cup of tea. “I’m not an official part of the society, so I’m not exactly certain. But it was Mister Fehr’s ideals that inspired the formation of the society – and if he needs to seek asylum, this would be the place to do so.”

            Eugene looked just as startled as Ciel. “What?” he inquired, blinking his eyes in a stunned fashion. Magdelena looked shocked as well.

            “I—,” she began. “I only assumed you knew if you were here?”

            “No, I—,” Eugene shook his head, eyes still blown wide. “I was certainly not aware of _any_ of this. I’m. Erm. Not on best terms with some of th’ upper-ups in ‘Eadquarters, and I just thought Alan was givin’ us a place to lay low. Who in their right mind would _start_ something like this?”

            Without warning, the overpowering scent of apples perfumed the air and a familiar person stepped through the mirror, throwing a long sheet of scarlet hair over her shoulders. Ciel nearly choked on his tea, sputtering in a most undignified way as he turned sharply towards the mirror where Grell Sutcliffe had emerged, looking around the room in alarm.

             “ _You_ —!” the earl sputtered.

            “You!” Grell returned, pointing towards Ciel dramatically and then turning towards Eugene, jabbing her finger at him as well while she gasped in alarm. “ _You!"_

            “Oh _shit_ ,” Eugene said, standing immediately. Magdalena looked absolutely lost, setting down her own tea and waving her hands in a panicked little gesture.

            “Sissy?” she addressed Sutcliffe, who instantly rushed to the younger reaper’s side, barring her from Eugene, who was retreating towards the mirror.

            “ _Don’t leave without me_!” Ciel shouted in exasperation, setting down his tea and following Eugene.

            “Maggie May, are you hurt?” Grell turned towards the younger girl, taking up her face in her hands and turning her this way and that.

            “Hurt?” Magdalena repeated, completely perplexed. “Why, of course not – I was just entertaining our guests.”

            “I _thought_ I was told _Mister Fehr_ was here,” Grell returned, shooting a poisonous glare at Ciel and Eugene.

            “But he is?” Magdalena squeaked, extracting herself from the redhead’s grip and gesturing vaguely towards where Ciel and Eugene were standing. “Unless I’m mistaken, this is Mister Fehr and his friend Ciel.”

            Grell’s mouth fell open and she began to shake her head slowly, “You’re _joking_. _You’re_ Eugene Fehr!?”

            “Yes?” Eugene returned, hand sneaking into his cloak. It didn’t appear that Sutcliffe was about to attack, but he certainly wasn’t about to be caught unaware.

            “But _you’re_ the rouge that’s been making those living corpses!” Grell exclaimed. “There’s no _way_ you’re the same person!”

            “He is, as far as I’m aware,” Ciel supplied, unsure as to how much sway he’d have in the conversation.

            “If you want us to go, we’ll go,” Eugene said evenly, gesturing back towards the mirror.

            “Wait, no! If you are him, I have so much to ask you!” Grell yipped, grasping at locks of her hair in desperation. “Oh _no,_ you _can’t_ be the same person!”

            “Grell, please calm down,” a curt voice quipped suddenly, and Ciel’s visible eye flicked behind him towards the mirror, where no one other than William T. Spears was strolling in, his blazer folded over his forearm. He quirked a sharp brow, his angular face illuminated oddly in the light of the stained glass in the hallway. “I’ve recently been informed on the matter by Mister Hugo – he’s the same person.”

            “But —,” Grell squeaked. “But _no_.”

            “You’re the reaper from the circus,” Ciel said, eyes widening as he backed up.

            “Indeed. I’m a co-founder of the New Death Society,” Will indicated a small, golden pin on the lapel of his vest, narrowed eyes still sizing up the earl. “This is my home, after all: Ashcarden Hall, meeting place of the NDS.”

            Ciel regarded him warily, “This young lady here says that your society is based off of the ‘ideals’ of Mister Fehr.” He stared between Will and the white-haired reaper. “Would you mind enlightening us as to what those are?”

            It was Grell who replied. She stood, a hand pressed proudly to her chest and she recited, as if from memory, “‘The New Death Society works in compliance with the founding goals of the Department of Dantean affairs: to create a harmonious existence between the six realms, diminishing the tension between the races and preventing the outbreak of war. Furthermore, the NDS works to ensure the proper and fair treatment of all souls as well as the proper and fair treatment of demonkind by reapers.’”

            “Your philanthropic work seems to benefit demons quite a bit,” Ciel began, eyes narrowing suspiciously, “Quite queer coming from one who professes to hate them so much.”

            “Will —,” Maddie began quietly, but the black-haired reaper silenced her with a quick _tsk_ directed towards the earl.

            “You don’t know anything about my motives,” he began, voice low as he circled the earl. “What we’ve _been_ through. I give you asylum in my home, and you’re ungrateful enough to question me?”

            Eugene held up his hands, bent on diffusing the situation as he slipped between Ciel and William, “If we could just —.”

            Ciel glared at William, his fingers clenching into fists. “I apologize for my _rudeness_ , but I’m a _bit_ out of sorts at the moment.” He dropped his head, eyes never leaving Will’s stiff frame. “I’m standing in a room with two reapers who have shown hostile tendencies towards my company; please forgive me for being on my guard.”

            His next words were cut off by a soft little hand enveloping his. Starting, Ciel turned to see Magdalena standing behind him, her eyes soft and impossibly sad.

            “Please,” she said. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. We just want to help.”

            Ciel eased, finally stepping back from William and settling back down into the armchair he’d previously occupied. The tension faded from both Eugene and William’s frames as they turned towards one another and shook hands.

            “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mister Fehr,” he said. “You’ve inspired me more than I could ever express.”

            “Apparently,” Eugene returned, his smile looking more than just a little nervous. “I – I really ‘ad no idea such a thing as the ‘New Death Society’ existed.”

            “I’m sorry you only just found out,” William said politely before turning to Ciel. “You wished for proof of why we’re so concerned on relations between reapers and demons?”

            Without explanation, the reaper loosened his tie and peeled off his gloves, dropping them unceremoniously on the coffee table. Grell sighed a little, glancing away anxiously as she brought her knees together, brow knit in concern. “You really don’t have to, Will—.”

            Her quip was ignored as William rolled up his sleeve, revealing a four-pronged gash that encircled his right forearm. Ciel stared at the puckered flesh, silently taking in the scar.

            “I was given this the night that a group of demons raided our family carriage,” he explained, eyes meeting Ciel’s through the thin glass of his spectacles. “That night they took our mother, father, and brother. Mags’ eyes as well.”

            He gestured towards his sister who was listening to his story and smiling sadly down at her lap.

            “All the more reason for you to hate demons,” Ciel supplied stiffly, unmoved by the confession. Grell scoffed from across the table, her serrated teeth flashing in a snarl. Will held up a gentle hand to still her

            “I can’t say I’m terribly fond of them,” he admitted. “But although my immediate family did nothing to anger the demons, I cannot say their hatred of reapers was unfounded.”

            He rolled his sleeves back down, setting his blazer on the back of the parlor couch that Grell occupied. “Years ago, demons were owned by wealthy reaper families as slaves. In my youth, my aunt and uncle possessed a boy demon, and I saw that child disfigured by them for the smallest infractions. My cousins would flick holy water at him for fun — use his flesh to create some sort of perverse art out of the enflamed welts that rose there,” his lips twitched into a mirthless smile. “Other families were not so kind to their slaves.

            “The demons lashed out due to the reapers’ abuse.” Will continued, fixing himself a cup of tea, “If it hadn’t been for that, then my family would still be alive. I intend to end that vicious cycle.”

            Ciel nodded stiffly, glancing at Grell. “And what of you?”

            “My father disowned me the moment he found out I was a woman,” the reaper shrugged elegantly, her lips pulled into a little pout. “Who am I to discriminate mindlessly? I’d only be a hypocrite, then.”

            The earl inhaled deeply, still uncertain at the situation at hand. It seemed that he and Eugene had indeed wandered into a political battlefield with the most dangerous players at its center. What they were saying certainly made sense to him, but his reluctance to trust the reapers overshadowed the logic.

            Trusting them was potentially no better than placing his trust in the hands of any others that had previously threatened him and his kin: Baron Kelvin, Charles Grey, Maeve Fitzpatrick. If it had been only Sebastian and Ciel pulling the strings, it would have been a simple process of manipulating the situation to his favor, but the weight of the child in his stomach reminded the earl that it was no longer that simple. For all he knew, someone could charge into the parlor at any minute and rip Ciel to shreds – it wasn’t as if he trusted Eugene to protect him.

            “You know,” Grell said softly, folding her hands over her lap. There were miles between the laughing maniac that had murdered Ciel’s aunt and the nearly-demure woman sitting opposite him now. “You _do_ have the choice to leave. We certainly aren’t going to force you two to stay.”

            Ciel released his breath, feeling it quiver shamefully in his throat before he directed his attention towards Eugene. It appeared he had no choice but to trust him. “Well?”

            Eugene responded by turning back to William, “Again, thank you for your ‘ospitality. We’d be delighted t’ stay.”

            Ciel nodded to himself before clicking his tongue. Between the traveling, the contract breaking, and the running he was absolutely exhausted – and filthy at that. He knew that there still had to be ink smudged across his face and staining his clothing. He just wanted to strip down, scrub himself clean, and climb naked under the covers of some bed, and he didn’t quite care whose bed it was.

            “In that case, I’d like to be seen to my room,” Ciel announced, knowing that he was committing one of the worst social taboos. “Or at the very least a washroom – I need to get this ink off of my face.”

            Magdalena instantly stood, gesturing towards the doorway. “I’d be pleased to show you,” she said, starting out of the room. Ciel followed, casting an anxious glance over his shoulder at Eugene.

 _'You better not betray my trust_ ,’ he thought. ‘ _Or it’s not just me that’s going to hurt for it._ ’

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be updated around 7-8 PM Pacific Time every Thursday. There are currently 22 of about 30 or 31 chapters written, so there may be a break at about 20 chapters in or so. We’ll let you know about any pauses that may occur. Much love!  
> -ChocolateMoosey


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